“What are you doing?!?” I ask The Husband, barely hiding the mild panic in my voice, “You just dumped that macaroni in the pot but forgot to set the timer!” I reach past him to the window ledge above the kitchen sink so I can grab the timer (digital, natch) and rectify the situation.
“The timer’s batteries died,” shrugs The Husband, “and besides, timers are for wimps.”
Wimps who like their noodles cook al dente like God and Rome
intended, not all swampy like mud in the backyard after a particularly fierce storm.
“No, no, no,” Queen Virgo cannot abide the situation, “if
the timer is broken, I’ll just watch the clock for you.” I stare at the clock: 5:37 PM. I glance at the noodle package, and see the
instructions indicate eight minutes.
Okay, so 5:37 plus eight is—
“Scoot,” he pushes me out of the kitchen. “I’m not a child. I think I know how to make noodles.”
But see? That’s the
problem—he doesn’t. The Ghost of
Negative Experiences Past appears, sitting calmly at the dining room table, and
she is making a face, a face like “ick.”
“Might as well order a pizza, or make yourself a sandwich,
or you could have cereal for dinner again,” whispers GoNEP, while flipping
through a décor magazine, “we both know how this is going to turn out.”
Unfortunately, she’s right.
“Sweetie,” I say to The Husband encouragingly, “there must be some batteries
in the basement somewhere? Let’s put new
batteries in the timer.”
He scowls at me, and GoNEP rolls her eyes. GoNEP taps a magazine page for me to look
at. “Check this out—apple green
walls! Remember when we tried that in
Tall’s bedroom in California? Huge
mistake. The color on the paint chip is
never the same as the one in the picture.”
I nod. Of course I
remember that apple green she’s talking about.
We ended up having to paint his room three times to get the color
right. GoNEP follows me almost
everywhere; she and I are pals.
The Husband calls the boys to dinner, and I tell GoNEP she
must leave now, there’s no room for her at our small table.
Tall lays the silverware and napkins out, and The Husband
brings in the pot of macaroni and cheese.
It resembles not so much an Italian gourmet meal as a yellow pool of
mush. I can’t say anything, though,
because as much as I love to be right, I hate to cook even more. I know if I say, “The noodles are horrible,”
then The Husband will respond with, “Then you can cook dinner tomorrow
night.” I walk in the kitchen and get an apple.
“What are you doing?” inquires The Husband, “Dinner is right here.”
GoNEP hides next to the refrigerator and coaches me on what to say. “I’m suddenly craving an apple, Sweetie, I actually had a big lunch.”
It’s okay: Queen Virgo could stand to lose a few pounds.
MOV
This perfection thingy? Is probably why Virgos are virgins. Just sayin'.
ReplyDeleteKirby,
DeleteHmmmmm. You may have a point.
best,
MOV
Lol, did you really just eat the apple?
ReplyDeleteI posted that story about the bad language and chillies from my childhood and mention your post.
Bozo,
DeleteThe apple. And later a few brownies. May have had a bowl of ice-cream. But no noodles!
best,
MOV
ps-- very flattered that you mention my post! thank you, and I will hop over to check it out.
"she is making a face, a face like “ick.” BAHAHA! I literally snorted out my juice when I read this line. Funny! In my house, my husband is the better cook. I cook healthier food, but his tastes better.
ReplyDeleteOh, Stephanie,
DeleteYou get me.
best,
MOV
My husband kills noodles, too. And he even does the obnoxious thing of throwing it against my cabinets to see if it sticks. AND THEN HE LEAVES IT THERE. But I, like you, try to keep quiet so he will continue to at least attempt cooking to give me a break. But I refuse to eat mush noodles. It is just not right.
ReplyDeleteMisty,
DeleteI am glad you can relate. What is the big deal about using a timer? Noodles can go from perfect to disgusting in 30 seconds flat, so why not prevent that if at all possible?????
best,
MOV
I think almost everyone kills noodles. I hate mushy noodles with a passion that shouldn't exist when talking about something as simple as a noodle. But like you I hate cooking too so I have ate many a mushy noodle to prevent having to cook. Hair color is never the same as it is on the box either. I made the mistake of dying my hair several years ago a couple hours before my father-in-laws funeral. Before the gray started I had red hair and we always need something to either brighten it up or tone it down. I picked up a box with a beautiful shade of red. I went to the funeral with a hideous shade of bright purple.
ReplyDeleteS, L, and T,
DeleteOohhhhhh, you are so right about hair color! I made the mistake of going red once when I was in college, thinking I would look like Nicole Kidman. No. More like Ronald McDonald.........
best,
MOV
If it can't be microwaved or eaten raw, it doesn't come into my house.
ReplyDeleteTracie,
DeleteAnd this is why you are my new best friend. Cookie dough counts, right?
best,
MOV
I ignore alot of crap in the kitchen, but I chase Rob away from the pasta pot or grilling salmon. I hate overcooked salmon.
ReplyDeleteGene Pool Diva,
DeleteOvercooked salmon. *shudder*
best,
MOV
Glad you had apples in the refrig. What would you have eaten if there weren't any? The mac and cheese mush?
ReplyDeleteElizabeth,
DeleteQueen Virgo always has a secret stash of chocolate....
best,
MOV
I also imagine that Hubby refuses to ask for directions when he's lost, 'cause that's for wimps as well?
ReplyDelete-Barb the French Bean
Barb,
DeleteOh, seems you have met The Husband. :)
best,
MOV
Men! Things would work much better if they'd just do as they were told.
ReplyDeleteJulie,
DeleteYou make it sound so simple..........
best,
MOV
Since I (Queen Leo) do the cooking in our house, I can assure you there are NO mushy noodles. I *hate* mushy noodles. Bleh!
ReplyDeleteCouse,
DeleteGlad someone has been paying attention!
best,
MOV
Ah man! My spam alert is going off! Beep Beep Beep BEEP BEEP! Looks like it's you. Better luck next time!
ReplyDelete