the other day i made a big vat of chili, right from scratch. i make a mighty mean and tasty chili. i don’t make it too often because it’s just me and i don’t need that much chili, ever. plus, you can’t really make a smaller portion because i can’t seem to find ground turkey in half-pound hunks. plus my freezer is too full of captain morgan, ice cream, and other stuff that can’t be named to freeze any extras. so yes, chili was made and shared. i brought the chili to work for me and my favorite co-worker to eat for lunch.
over our chili we talked about the really weird generic tupperware/rubbermaid-like containers my mom had gotten me for christmas. mostly we talked about the hideous color of the caps. then we got to talking about how it didn’t matter because i’ll probably have thrown them away and/or lost them in six months.
she then told me how she has to throw them away all the time, because they sit so long in her refrigerator that she gets scared of them and just tosses them out. i can totally relate, because i do the same thing.
“i don’t even know why we use them,” she said. “we never eat leftovers.”
“never eat leftovers?” i asked, my ears unsure they had actually heard such lunacy.
they don’t eat leftovers. my mind boggles. i live for leftovers. next to kicking the cats off the bed and rubbing my feet on that warm spot made by their bodies, leftovers are my most favorite thing in the entire world. leftovers mean i can eat a mere two minutes after i decide i’m hungry. leftovers mean that i can avoid going to the grocery store for one or two or maybe even three more days. i love love love leftovers most of all because i really hate hate hate to cook.
a few months ago i announced my cooking hatred to my friend hilary. she said it was probably because i was so tall and it hurt my back to bend at a goofy angle to chop and prepare food stuffs. i totally loved that reasoning and latched on to it immediately, because i like to blame everything i possibly can on my height. it makes it look like there’s a biological reason for my dislike of something and not just that i’m weird.