It's Kind of Like Pot Roast...
You start off this Sunday in the mood to cook. "What a wonderful day to cook," you think, "The weather is cold and if I cook something big tonight, I won't have to do anything tomorrow." You set out to get your ingredients. Looks like tonight is going to be a roast night for you. Little beef stew flavoring, little beef, little potatoes, little celery, little carrots. Despite the little portions you have put in, the crock pot is full. You wait for it to develop all day. You keep sneaking to the kitchen to "stir it one more time" even though we all know crock pot meals don't need to be stirred. You sneak a carrot at 1:00 only to find it still raw. Your stomach aches at 4:00 when the carrots are now cooked, but the potatoes always take longer and tonight they seem to be taking their time. By 7:00, you are ravenous. You devour your meal, yburning your mouth in no less than 3 places. "Good meal, good meal," you congratulate yourself as the winner of this little game. Time to push all of the beer and water out of the way to make room for the crock pot full of tasty leftovers.
Day two: You warm your food up in the microwave or your oven and while you are eating it, though it is tasty the second time, you hold to the reminiscing positive thought that yesterday's decision to cook roast was indeed a good decision. Belly full from the second night of animal, you stumble into the kitchen to do dishes. "Ach, I don't want to do them, I am full," you rationalize, "The whole purpose of having leftovers tonight was so that I didn't have to do work." It's time to make decisions. Time to start cleaning the dishes, but you decide instead of washing the crock pot bowl or instead of jamming it into the already full dishwasher, to just return it to the back corner of your counter where the warmer is. "Tomorrow when it is again a workday," you promise, "I will wash out that crock pot."
But Tuesday is busy. And so is Wednesday and you begin to think of all that has to be finished before the weekend, by Thursday, you haven't even entered the kitchen because LIFE HAS MOVED ON. At some point the thought of pot roast is gone. You remember eating it, you remember your good Sunday decision, but by the weekend, that crock pot is safely far from your memory.
It's now Wednesday of the following week. There's a chance of snow and the wind has taken that biting attitude with you where each time it blows it feels like it is scraping off your epidermis with a fine edged razor blade. "Chili," you think, "will be the perfect way to end this bitter cold." Quickly dashing to the store, you gather your beans and jalapeños (yes, there are supposed to be jalapeños in chili) and you drive home with the warmth of chili in your heart.
You race into the forgotten kitchen. Your ingredients have been lined neatly across the counter and there's a nano-second's worth of pause before you remove the lid to the crock pot. Then, "Ach, gulp, ack! Ack," as you choke on the smell. The outside is bitter cold, but the warmth of your house and the former condensation from the lid of the crock pot has trapped this cacophony of smells into your little place of heaven and now your eyes are watering and your mouth and throat keep doing that involuntary puking spasm. You step closer to it again, knowing now that something has to be done. "Gulp, ack, OOOOh! EEEEEWW!" You run from the kitchen again. All right. Sigh. Time to hold your breath and finish this. Face turning blue, you find the farthest corner of your back yard, hopefully close to the neighbors chows, where you can dump this moldy bloody mess. And, as you are standing outside, 10 feet away from the crock pot with your garden hose, spraying down this mess, you scold yourself and keep bitterly thinking, "Why couldn't I have just used the damn stove to cook my chili?"
And so let it be said: When you unexpectedly run into your ex in a public place, the one you cooed over, the one that for a moment in your lifetime that you would have died for, that it feels like running into the maggoty pot roast and I, oops, I mean you, are left with the thought that you will NEVER eat meat again.
Now, read it again, and tell me I am wrong. And, in the spirit of M. Night Shamalan, I have shaded red all of the places that are clues.
Day two: You warm your food up in the microwave or your oven and while you are eating it, though it is tasty the second time, you hold to the reminiscing positive thought that yesterday's decision to cook roast was indeed a good decision. Belly full from the second night of animal, you stumble into the kitchen to do dishes. "Ach, I don't want to do them, I am full," you rationalize, "The whole purpose of having leftovers tonight was so that I didn't have to do work." It's time to make decisions. Time to start cleaning the dishes, but you decide instead of washing the crock pot bowl or instead of jamming it into the already full dishwasher, to just return it to the back corner of your counter where the warmer is. "Tomorrow when it is again a workday," you promise, "I will wash out that crock pot."
But Tuesday is busy. And so is Wednesday and you begin to think of all that has to be finished before the weekend, by Thursday, you haven't even entered the kitchen because LIFE HAS MOVED ON. At some point the thought of pot roast is gone. You remember eating it, you remember your good Sunday decision, but by the weekend, that crock pot is safely far from your memory.
It's now Wednesday of the following week. There's a chance of snow and the wind has taken that biting attitude with you where each time it blows it feels like it is scraping off your epidermis with a fine edged razor blade. "Chili," you think, "will be the perfect way to end this bitter cold." Quickly dashing to the store, you gather your beans and jalapeños (yes, there are supposed to be jalapeños in chili) and you drive home with the warmth of chili in your heart.
You race into the forgotten kitchen. Your ingredients have been lined neatly across the counter and there's a nano-second's worth of pause before you remove the lid to the crock pot. Then, "Ach, gulp, ack! Ack," as you choke on the smell. The outside is bitter cold, but the warmth of your house and the former condensation from the lid of the crock pot has trapped this cacophony of smells into your little place of heaven and now your eyes are watering and your mouth and throat keep doing that involuntary puking spasm. You step closer to it again, knowing now that something has to be done. "Gulp, ack, OOOOh! EEEEEWW!" You run from the kitchen again. All right. Sigh. Time to hold your breath and finish this. Face turning blue, you find the farthest corner of your back yard, hopefully close to the neighbors chows, where you can dump this moldy bloody mess. And, as you are standing outside, 10 feet away from the crock pot with your garden hose, spraying down this mess, you scold yourself and keep bitterly thinking, "Why couldn't I have just used the damn stove to cook my chili?"
And so let it be said: When you unexpectedly run into your ex in a public place, the one you cooed over, the one that for a moment in your lifetime that you would have died for, that it feels like running into the maggoty pot roast and I, oops, I mean you, are left with the thought that you will NEVER eat meat again.
Now, read it again, and tell me I am wrong. And, in the spirit of M. Night Shamalan, I have shaded red all of the places that are clues.
posted by Unequivocal_Prowess at 5:23 AM
2 Comments:
Oh, ew.
We had a pot like that at work this summer. Left over from the previous summer.
I feel your pain
Shamma-lamma-ding-dong* would be so proud... and I wish there were pictures of cleaning out the pot with your garden hose!
* one of Matt's favorite directors
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