Life Imitates Art

Yesterday was my wander around day. I mis-estimated how many boxes of cereal I'd eat while home from work (and my wife, God love her, has the exact count to the second, of days, hours and minutes before my return; trust me on this) so I had to go to the store by myself and buy more.

Men and women shop for groceries differently and this was always most readily apparent when our kids were small. Both of our children loved to grocery shop with me, not because I'd ignore my wife's list (I didn't and dared not do that) but because of all the amazing things I'd find to put in the cart as we went from one item of purchase to the next (Sigrid could lay out the list in the order in which I'd find the items on the shelf).

It made no difference how long or short her list was and how tight on time I'd be because, as the expedition started, there was always room for Screaming Yellow Zonkers in the cart or whatever stunt double snack was playing the part of SYZ at that time. Sometimes we managed to bring home most of what she wanted us to buy. Sometimes, not so much and that meant a lot of Chicken Lipton soup one of the few things I can cook.

And, no, I don't need you to tell me it's not actually cooking. Of course, it's not. I don't want to poison my children by cooking anything for them to eat. My wife and I don't have two adults now because of poor planning on her part. It's taken decades of marriage for me to be allowed to make spaghetti and meat sauce. It's a privilege I guard jealously if not especially well

I almost set myself back a decade or more with my bacon, cherry tomato and pasta salad creation while Sigrid went home to Germany some years ago (though not to feed Nessie). All I will say about rotini is it looks a lot smaller and a lot less uncooked than after you boil it in water. I think if you work it right you could live for a month from a 16 ounce box of cooked rotini, mainly because both Michelle and I very nearly did.

Thus, these days, I'm very respectful of all products, especially grains that come packed in boxes. Every once in a while I encounter a feral rotini noodle of whom I am no longer afraid, though I do regard every liaison as more cautionary than casual even if that's considered a little tacky.
-bill kenny