I had yet to consume my Elixir of Life (coffee) so operating from reflex only, I rushed my leftovers to the fridge hoping that my cold cuts and mayo might still be salvageable. I refrained from giving my sandwich chest compressions and mouth to mouth, only because it was 7:30 in the morning and I wasn’t hungry yet (plus Bella was watching with somewhat judgmental eyes).
I recently looked my gift horse in the mouth ***NEVER DO THAT*** and my super stellar living arrangement with Dearest JS has altered course. JS used to feed me. Like, he enjoys cooking, I totally enjoy eating, VIOLA! Match made in Heaven. But not so fast. We moved into our new abode mid March and JS took to a rigorous workout schedule. I used to get home between 6:30 and 7:30 pm to the smell of something good cooking and a refrigerator full of sustenance. Now I come home to a place that smells oddly enough like a sixteen year old boy has broken a bottle of cologne in my bathroom before dashing out the door. No dinner, no groceries to make dinner, and rarely are there leftovers from one of my own cooking experiments… It's really sad.
JS drips in around 8:30 or 9 pm and claims the cologne was used to spray his recycled gym shorts. EW! We discuss the merits of him NEVER spraying that awful shite indoors EVER again and the pro’s of washing one’s clothes. Strangely, this idea is met with some resistance... I think we eventually agreed that he (I) will throw out the Curve cologne and try switching to a fragrance that is more age appropriate (like the smell of clean laundry) with the noted exceptions of Old Spice, Brut or Stetson.
Needless to say, leftovers have become a very precious commodity in our household and a mushy sandwich left out all night is a crying shame. We haven’t yet entered into ‘who will cook negotiations’ but I have a sneaking suspicion we are both getting tired of JS’s modified Frozen Pizza and my own Bush’s refried beans and cheese burritos.