We Eat the Good Stuff

On Tuesday

The Man and I were standing in front of an open cupboard with dull faces when he said “We just eat the same things over and over.” It’s true. I’m not a cook, not a food person, woefully inadequate at more than keeping the machine running. There’s no grace in it or art or love. As much as I am in my head he is in his body. He likes pure body function in any form. Eating. Sleeping. Fucking. I’m sidestepping the other obvious here because I already mentioned bowels once this week. Oops. Sure he appreciates quality (I don' t know it seems like the right thing to say but I'm not even sure of this) but mostly it doesn’t matter. It’s the swallow, the snore the release. The pounding pulse in his head he can't hear over or see past says “good enough, gets the job done.”

On Wednesday

I noticed we had potatoes. So I googled a recipe for potatoes in a crock pot. I chopped. I diced. I modified a little since I didn’t have exactly the right ingredients. It looked like a pile of Idaho spud shit. Food often looks like that so I wasn’t worried. Over time there was a smell. It sneaked around the house until there wasn’t anywhere to escape. I started feeling light headed. That sensation you get day three no food except ONLY in my head. I walked into three walls before I decided to go to bed with the toddler. We slept hard for three hours and were awakened by The Girls arriving home from school and The Man home from work.

Dinner On Wednesday

The Man dished the kids up and I hid in the kitchen to peek at The Girls faces when they saw we were not eating one of the four child approved meals. They were NOT happy. The Man buttered up a bunch of bread and they chewed that in silence until I heard The Toddler exclaim “ITS ‘LICIOUS!”

“Really? You guys like it?” I said, rather astonished and this sound slipped out of The Man. It was a laugh I think. Or he was choking.

“He’s eating bread.” he informed me between heaping scoops being spooned down his own throat.

“IS IT TERRIBLE?” I asked.     More laughing.   “STOP EATING IT!!!” he wouldn’t. “WHY WOULD YOU DOOOOO THAT? STOP EATING RIGHT NOW!” I grabbed the bowl out of his hands.

“It’s FINE.”

“So you like it? Say you like it. Say I like this and I want to eat it again and as much as possible”

“I'll eat anything you make… it might be over-done… what is this anyway?”

“I tried something different!!! I found it on the internet.”

“I know it‘s new! It’s great.”

“Just stop already.”  I started clearing the table and preheating the oven to make frozen pizza pockets for the kids. “You know why we eat the same stuff over and over? THAT’S THE GOOD STUFF. We’re eating the good stuff.”

There was a quiet. The kids were not positive I was going to make anything else to eat. The Man was not positive I wasn’t going to jump him. He probably doesn’t remember me telling him that I once force fed a b/f pudding to make a point but he knows I’m capable of terrible things.  Finally there wasn’t anything to do but laugh.

So I did. And he did. The kids did not laugh as they're old enough to hold grudges and Do So. And I said “I think that shit poisoned me …. The smell… my gawd. I was walking into walls”

“It wasn’t that bad…” The Man insisted.

“The fact that you’ll eat anything makes your culinary opinion useless. Hey Man?”

“yeah?”

“We have to make all evidence of this gone fast. Or I’m going to throw up.”

I bet he likes throwing up.

April 03, 2009