You just finished devouring a gorgeous meal. You had a juicy steak cooked to bloody perfection and a dish you’ve lovingly nicknamed ‘heart-attack potatoes’ topped with enough cheese, butter, and salt for the year. You topped the meal off with some broccoli and a smattering of brussels sprouts layered with oil and bacon galore. See, you found a way to fit a green in there, right?
You’re currently experiencing what is known in the culinary world as a ‘food coma’. Your belly is happily protruding in your comfy sweatpants and you’re sporting a satisfied smile. All the work you’ve done making your dinner- prepping the food, timing each dish precisely, seasoning, plating, and probably burning yourself on the stove once or twice- it has all culminated in an absolutely perfect meal. And you’re not above patting yourself on the back a bit for that, either.
Now all you have to do is put away your leftovers and you’ll have food for the rest of the week. That’s the easy part, right?
You pull out a large plastic baggy and attempt to seat it on the counter, open, ready to receive your heart attack potatoes. You grab the bowl they’ve been temporarily placed in, as well as a spoon, and attempt to align the containers.
Steady, now… you think to yourself, as you wipe a drip of sweat from your brow. You move your spoon along the bowl, grabbing the first scoop, and expertly landing it in the plastic baggy. Phew, one down… Next scoop, good… Third scoop, good… Then, as you go for that fourth scoop, you simultaneously notice the bag start to tip a bit.
The world begins to go in slow motion as a few things happen simultaneously: Your hand that is currently scooping flings out to grab the slipping baggy. The baggy is already tipped over and falling, so you tip the bowl in your haste to stop the baggy potatoes from hitting the ground. Before you know it, you’re sitting on the floor, covered in your favorite food. A food that you were looking forward to eating for the rest of the week.
The speed of the world is normal again as you sit in the mush all over your floor. Are you mad that you’re going to have to spend the next thirty minutes cleaning your kitchen floor now? You will be, eventually. But right now you’re too busy mourning your precious potatoes to even think of it.
Noooooooooooooooooo! You’re not sure if the dramatic scream akin to a villain whose evil plot has been foiled is coming from inside your head or if your neighbors will be making a noise complaint. You have the irrational urge to stay on the ground and call your Mom or best friend to vent about this tragedy, rather than get up and begin the process of cleaning. Another part of you, although it has already been much longer than this as you’re sitting here contemplating all of the poor life choices that lead you to this point, is thinking…five second rule? Can I just… put it in the plastic bag? No?
But you don’t do any of those things. You sit on the floor for much longer than you’d like to admit, dramatically sighing, grieving all of the happy meals you and your potatoes would have shared together had it not been for their untimely demise. Then, after one final goodbye, you stand back up, dust the residual potato off of your t-shirt, and grab a broom.
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