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Current Mood: full
… when he must finally break down and buy a pot. And a strainer. And turn his stove on for the first time since moving into his place two years ago. And make himself some spaghetti.
And that time is tonight.
I believe I once made the argument that I didn’t own these things because I knew it would snowball. And after I did the dishes tonight (which was so much more a pain than usual), I thought about how nice it would be if I had a rack to put my new pot and strainer in while they dry. And I thought about how it might be nice to have one of those vases to put my new pasta scoop in. And heck, what if I tried out my dishwasher for once?
And I am doomed. And I have lost one of my most endearing eccentricities.
But I wonder if it isn’t worth it? Because sweet Jesus, homemade spaghetti is good. It reminds me of my folks. And I don’t know what “arrabiata” means, but it tastes like heaven. So as I poured on the Kraft parmesan, I thought about the fact that although I do joke about it, there actually seems to be something gratifying about cooking, despite the ridiculous overhead of time and effort. Am I becoming an adult? Or just boring? Or both?
I repeat, I am doomed. And fucking stuffed.