Today, I was viciously snapped back to the memory of my single days. With Mr. Cutthroat working such crazy hours for his own business, I was left to fend for myself for dinner. I started plotting the prospect of having to make my own dinner tonight at around 11 AM. It was more of a panic. For those of you who do not know, Mr. Cutthroat's hobby is making delicious dinners. He smokes meat, makes reductions out of fancy things, and plates the food to look like a restaurant. I haven't had to make my own dinner for years. And when I did, I ate either dry pancakes or blue box macaroni and cheese. For a week, I ate peanut butter and jelly on saltines for dinner. It wasn't that I was poor. I just didn't care to try to make anything good. It is any wonder I didn't get scurvy like an old timey pirate.
I decided to embrace the day with the opportunity to eat like I did in my early 20s. Sometimes, while he was making homemade noodles and Fontina cheese sauce, I would fantasize about having simple macaroni and cheese for dinner. Sickening, I know. When I came home, I started rummaging through the pantry and light shined through the ceiling on a lone box of Hamburger Helper stashed in the back. I am not even sure how it got into our house. In fact, it was expired. I made it anyway. Now, I'm wishing I would have just kept spinning yarn straight through dinner. What was I thinking? I will never wish for another dinner like that again. Until, Mr. Cutthroat tries to make a fancy peanut butter and jelly sandwich on homemade saltines.
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