A couple weeks ago our work hours were changed from 9:30-6 to 9:30-6:30. And my reaction has been something akin to:
That half hour doesn’t really seem like much, but it turns out that it’s the difference between driving home like a sane person, walking the dog to the dog park, and fixing a semi-decent dinner; and rushing home like a crazy person, driving the dog to the dog park only to find that everyone’s already left, and deciding that a bowl of cereal is definitely the best way to keep from dying of starvation right there in my kitchen.
Cautionary Husband got the microwave in the separation. I’m not sure of the logic we used there, since the separating of all the kitchen stuff is still kind of a nightmarish blur to me, but I think it went something like this: 1. his parents bought it for us, 2. I have no counter space at my new place, and 3. he asked me what I need a microwave for, anyway, and after thinking for a second, I said…soup? He said I can fix soup on the stove and would be just fine without the microwave. I thought this was convincing enough and let him take it.
At first I was fine. And then I caught myself looking forlornly at all the steamer bags of vegetables in the freezer section of my local grocery store. Of course I could buy those veggies and cook them in a pot, but that gets a pot dirty for no reason, which is a big deal when you don’t have a dishwasher, and takes longer, and is a hassle when only two of the four burners on your stove are functioning and they’re both at the back. As I’d walk by the freezers, the special patented steaming baggies would jeer, “we’re convenient and delicious and you desperately need more veggies in your diet, but you don’t have a microwaaaaaaaave.” They’re bitches, those frozen veggies, I’d think. And then I’d go home and eat cereal for dinner for the third night in a row.
Last week I got ambitious. I got home around 6:45, rushed the dog to the dog park, picked up Cautionary Husband, bought some ingredients at Whole Foods, and made us homemade mac & cheese for dinner. When we got back to my place, I nearly had a nervous breakdown before the cheese was even shredded. CH made me sit down and eat something. And drink some wine. I was able to calm down enough to prepare the dinner.
It wasn’t out of the oven until 9. Neither of us was even hungry by then.
We split the leftovers 50/50, but the next day when I got home from work and saw the delicious mac & cheese sitting in my fridge, all cold and not ready for me to eat it and impossible to heat up in a quick and easy fashion, I nearly had another nervous breakdown.
I called Cautionary Husband and told him enough was enough; I was coming over to get the microwave.
It usurped the toaster’s spot on the counter. And once it was in place, I did a little microwave dance for Cautionary Dog, which consisted of me jumping around in my tiny kitchen, shaking my ass, and singing “I CAN EAT! I CAN EAT! I CAN EAT!” at the top of my lungs.
And tonight when I get home at a God-forsaken hour, that hour when most of America has already eaten dinner, put the kids to bed, and is settling in for some prime-time television, I will put a steamer bag of veggies into the microwave, take it out a few minutes later, and eat it straight out of the bag with a fork. And who knows. Maybe I’ll get really crazy and heat up a few of those frozen chicken nuggets that have been sitting in my freezer since I moved in.