[Setting: a small automobile in a mid-sized city in northern Florida, USA. It is early morning. She is driving today; He occupies the passenger seat. The car pulls up to a curb. He opens his door and prepares to exit; in the midst of the usual love-yous, good-byes, and have-a-good-days, He suddenly remembers a specific item about which He meant to wish Her well.]
He: You’re going to lunch with The Stepdaughter today, aren’t you?
She: Yes.
He: Oh, well, have a good lunch then!
She: You have a good lunch, too. Did you bring tuna today?
He: No. Chicken salad.
She: You didn’t bring some of that beautiful tuna salad you made?
He: What tuna salad? I didn’t make any tuna salad.
She: That whole bowl of it in the refrigerator—
He: That’s not tuna salad. It’s homemade dog food for The Pooch — dog food you made!
She: (laughing) Oh.
The car drives away. There is no traffic, but He remains standing there for another moment or so — standing, and collecting his wits.
Well, I’m sure it is very good dog food. Good enough to share, in fact.
He: What … what did I use to make the sandwich I have? I did use the chicken salad, right? Right? Yeah, I’m … I’m sure of. I-I’m sure … sure I did….
Great stuff, JES. Great. :)
heeheehee
All: there’s actually another little twist to the story. Shortly after she put the dog food together the other night from rice, ground beef, salt substitute, a crushed multi-vitamin, etc., we were talking about why The Pooch was resisting eating it. The Missus allowed that she’d tasted it herself, and it wasn’t bad — the clear implication being that if it was good enough for her…
Sometimes after leftovers have been in the fridge for probably longer than they should have been, I find that hubby has made a sandwich for lunch the next day and used…well, something I certainly wouldn’t have used! I always wonder afterwards–what was it that he actually ate? And did he know what it was when he was fixing his sandwich? I’m always too cowardly to ask later.
cynth: That’s a frightening peek into your everyday lives.
On one level, everything in the fridge (unless you’ve got small kids with an interest in science projects, or work at a blood bank) should probably be considered edible. Yet we know better, those of us who grew up with mothers perhaps more optimistic than level-headed about the lifespan of leftovers.