When Your Roomie Is A Little Off-The-Wall
I am awoken by a being that does not understand or cares for my silly human time constructs: my very needy cat. It’s about three in the morning, and I figure, fine, I’ll get a little ‘midnight’ snack while he’s up here singing opera to me, so I find my way downstairs to the kitchen.
I live with one other person and his teenage daughter, who’s going through a bit of an odd patch with her eating habits, and it seems she’s awake at this point as well, and is boiling up some pasta. I was about to suggest to her that next time, she try a more protein-rich item like a turkey sandwich when I see her scooping up a piece of the penne with a slotted spoon and then… throws it at the wall. It hits with a SPLAP and falls to the ground. I stare at her, inquisitive.
Me: “What… What are you doing?”
Her: “Checking to see if the pasta is done.”
She says this as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Me: “That trick only really works for spaghetti, but even so, I would appreciate you not throwing any food at the walls. Thick pasta like that’s only gonna fall.”
Her: “Oh. I was wondering why I always overcooked it.”
Me: “Are you telling me you’ve been doing this EVERY time you cook pasta?!”
She nods.
Me: “Okay. Cool. Great. I’m too tired to deal with this right now. Let me see if it’s done, and I’ll show you what to do next time.”
Her: “But that’s too embarrassing!”
Me: “What is?”
Her: “Asking you…”
Me: “Worse than turning your pasta into mush? … Yeah. Thought so.”
I check the pasta and tell her it needs about two more minutes, then make myself a peanut butter sandwich and go back to bed. I get the logic behind it, but why not try reading the back of the box?
