Here we go, I’m coming clean.
Are you ready?
I had potato chips for dinner.
My husband was at work, I was in the middle of wrapping up fifteen long-neglected knitting projects and knee-deep into the first season of Glee (ack- I’m a hopeless addict now- don’t judge me – the damage has already been done). Potato chips really *were* the only option.
I have a super hard time trying to cook for myself. Does anyone else have that problem? Sometimes I will think of something I really want that maybe Alex doesn’t like, so I’ll make it for myself for dinner while he’s at work – and it’s almost as if I have to force myself to do it and that’s no fun. This is why, Wednesdays through Sundays, I eat like one of those college students you hear tell about, except that even boiling pasta seems like a waste of time when it’s Just Me.
I tried to avoid it. I trounced down the stairs and asked the lady who runs Caraway’s if she wanted dinner- I’d be willing to make her something. It worked yesterday, but today she was headed home to have dinner with her mom. Fail.
But wait – it gets worse.
The day *before* yesterday, I actually factually walked down the street and bought fried rice from the new Chinese restaurant that opened last week and had that for dinner.
Really? That ain’t gonna fly long!
So I ate potato chips tonight…. and a chunk of chocolate for dessert, wrapped up in my fuzzy robe (because it is June in Vermont, as you know, winter isn’t *quite* through with us yet), letting Glee destroy my intellect and self-respect while I eeked out another four inches on my hat. Come 9:30 I will perk up and start making dinner for when Alex comes home. Inspiration floods in and I feel Alive and Real and Needed.
It leads one to wonder – if it weren’t for my husband – what kind of human being would I be, anyway?
A little terrifying, isn’t it?
Thank God for Alex.