When I was living in Korea I’d read about kids dying from eating too much instant noodles while dicking around on the computer.
Notorious computer rooms where you could ditch school and home because no one gave a shit. Or didn’t know where you were.
Ah the nostalgia of a highly sodiumized cup of Korean noodle.
I am guilty of convenience eating. Certainly, I know how to cook, but honestly there are many days when I am more than fine with getting instant with it. When I have used up my last bit of battery power listening to some white girl on the F train rant about Black rappers while licking her friend’s coat, I know I’m not going to want to make dinner. So vindaloo or sesame chicken it is.
I am lucky that the Boyfriend is a good cook, and willing to cook. His repertoire of dinner stuffs keeps expanding and I am the better (possibly fatter) for it.
And just like my mother who made sure we had dinner on the table no matter what bat shit day she had, the Boyfriend is stalwart in his endeavor to feed us despite the weather, Trump’s cabinet time warp, or the Kansas Jayhawks’ close game wth Clemson.