Tweet Last night I went to the front porch to get the mail. I turned on the outside porch light so our little mailbox could illuminate any potential rabid birds. See, the owners before us had secured some sort of ugly artificial plant hanging thing just above the mailbox which I had to knock down after I discovered two birds nesting in it. Scared the life out of me and them - except they didn't drop dead. They just flapped around my head and tried to attack me. Then they had the audacity to re-nest when I went back inside. I don't know how thousands of birds can drop dead from simultaneous fear but these two little suckers were hearty enough to handle my surprise attack. Whatever. I knocked the artificial plant thing down and that was the end. Stupid feathery squatters. Anyway, I always turn on the light and I always make a lot of noise to make sure any animals disappear before picking up the mail in the dark.
So, I stepped out on the porch and spied with my little eye a pile of what looked to be vomit on the grass in front of the mailbox. And I'm thinking the flu is going around and that poor mailman trudged up and down these streets puking over his shoulder just to deliver my credit card bill to me on time. What a trooper! Only after looking at it for a second longer I realized it wasn't vomit at all. It was actually a pile of macaroni and cheese. Because doesn't everyone have piles of food on their lawn? I'd like to say I live in a van down by the river, but sadly, I do not.
I summoned the family to come share in my discovery. "So, um, I see there's a pile of macaroni and cheese in front of our mailbox. Uh, anyone know how it got there?"
I was expecting a bunch of hemming and hawing from the children so, needless to say, I was pretty caught off guard when Big V proudly announced, "Yeah, I put it there." Like that was the most natural thing in the world to do: spoon a batch of Kraft goodness on the grass.
"Because no one was eating it and it was going to waste so I threw it out."
"So you threw it out onto the front lawn?"
"Well, what else was I going to do with it?"
"Um. Put it in the garbage like every other person on the planet."
"In the garbage? It'll smell."
"Then tie up the bag and take the garbage out. You seriously think the front lawn is a better disposal option?"
"What did you do when you were kids and had food on your plate that you didn't eat?"
"I don't know. I just left the plate on the table. My mom must've done something with it."
(Mothers: please teach your boys simple household chores.)
"Did you grow up with piles of food in your yard?"
"..... uh.... no..... I guess I just figured animals would eat it."
"I can't wait to see what types of animals come sit outside our front porch waiting for food."
Now I'm scared of birds and raccoons and opossums and wild boar and whatever else might be lured to our property to dine on our front yard buffet. I'm going to need a rifle just to check the mail.
So Big V leaves to go dive under the ice because he's into that kind of thing. The man can dive into dark, freezing cold waters to find a body but he can't figure out what to do with leftover food. Focus on the good: he's saving lives.
By the time he got home I was in bed. I heard him in the kitchen pulling out the pork roast I had made for dinner. Plates hitting the counter, spoons being thrown in the sink. The beep of the microwave programmed to heat. Silence as Big V enjoyed the meal I slaved over.... then steps down the hall, bedroom door opening, light from the hall blinding my eyes.
"This tastes weird."
"It's a pork roast. It's pork - not beef."
"No, the mashed potatoes taste weird."
"I didn't make mashed potatoes."
"I think they were the ones left from Christmas Eve dinner."
"One, you shouldn't eat anything from Christmas Eve dinner. That was forever ago. Two, I didn't make mashed potatoes for Christmas Eve."
"Well, whenever you made them. They taste weird."
"I didn't make mashed potatoes. Like, ever. I don't think I've mashed any form of potato in over a year."
"But they were in the fridge."
"No they weren't."
"Then what am I eating."
"Cookie dough. The Bean whipped up some cookie dough before she went to bed so she could throw them in the oven tomorrow after school."
"I'm eating heated up cookie dough?"
"And pork roast."
"That's gross! Who does that?! Who makes cookie dough and sticks it in the fridge?"
"Thousands of women all over the world."
"Well, then you should do something so people don't think it's mashed potatoes."
"How many people do you know wad up their leftover mashed potatoes into a ball and cover it tightly with plastic wrap? You honestly thought there was a wrapped ball of mashed potatoes sitting on the shelf in the fridge?"
"Well, I don't know what you do with leftovers."
"The past three years of plastic containers didn't give you a clue?"
"Whatever. What do I do with this?"
"The cookie dough and pork roast."
"You could eat it."
"Then throw it out. ..... Just not in the front lawn."
Monday, January 3, 2011
Tweet I've been so procrastinating writing this post. I know it won't live up to the Rah! Rah! Rah! GOOOOOO NEW YEAR! expectations. Because seriously, I'm not about resolutions. It's like a test: Quick: what do you resolve to change about yourself? It's as if I'm being asked what crappy thing about me do I think I need to change. Uh, where do I start? So let's just get the formality out of the way: Uh, I solemnly swear to resolve to attempt to remember to write 2011 on any check I might actually end up writing in 2011, which I don't think will be many since I do everything online.
Phew. I feel so much better.
Phew. I feel so much better.