Garfield had it right. Mondays can suck it. Sleeping is euphoric. Lasagna reigns supreme. Screw kindergarten. Everything I need to know I learned from a fat cartoon cat.
Last Monday was a drag. And not the sassy kind like Nina Flowers. I can't really pin down why it was a unimpressive other than the fact that it was Monday. Send me back to bed because hiding from Monday beats facing it...plus we just bought these delicious new pillows. Who wouldn't want to curl up in bed when St. Peter opens the bedroom door for you? Come to think of it, that man never goes home. Hope he doesn't have an ear to the door after dark. Pervert. I'm actually writing this post from bed because tomorrow is another Monday and I'm bracing for it. Total honesty? I'm writing this post from bed because it's Football Sunday and I'm tired of getting confused and thinking that Boyfriend is talking to me and not the padded dudes on the field. Believe me, I've tried to explain that those coaches, players and refs can't hear him, but he insists on telling them what he thinks. I've told you before, he just doesn't get how technology works. Poor old man Boyfriend.
Back to the story. Last Monday, Boyfriend decided that to make us lasagna for dinner. I freaking love lasagna, perhaps more than Boyfriend; thankfully they're a package deal so I don't have to choose between them. He went to the store and picked up all the groceries to make the pasta...except the pasta noodles. Of course, this oversight wasn't acknowledged until he'd already started cooking this, mixing that, sprinkling his seasonings and whatnot.
Uh oh.
What?
You have to go to the store.
Why?
We don't have any lasagna noodles.
You can go to the store.
I can if you watch what I've got going on the stove.
We all know that I'm not going to watch whatever's happening on the stove. I could try, but I recently ruined Pillsbury ready-to-bake cookies, so I flop off the couch, grab my keys, and in my schlubby Monday state, stomp over to the corner store. I must have been muttering aloud because the very nice asian man that owns the place interrupted me to say, "We just have cheddar." I don't know what he heard me say, but I was talking to myself. Which, might I add, is completely different than shouting at a television. I didn't want to seem rude so I picked up a box of lasagna noodles and said: If you're out of that, I'll just take this. He offered me a lop-sided uncertain smile with my change. Neither of us had anything else to add to the conversation that didn't appear to make sense to either side.
When I got home I flung the box on the counter.
These are the wrong kind.
She Hulk attack! Before the rage works into the muscles and causes them to explode in green fury, Boyfriend cocks his head to the side and says: Just kidding. Bad joke. Non-joke really. The anger subsides and I stomp into the living room again.
I build myself into a cocoon on the couch, determined to trap myself there for the rest of the evening. The good news was, it worked. The bad news was, it worked.
In my comfort, I was on the brink of sleep, in that weird realm of sleeping but not sleeping. The lines of reality blur in this state and you can never be sure of what's real and what's not. Especially when the television is on, those cartoons can mess you up real good. The oven door slammed shut with satisfaction when Boyfriend filled it with lasagna. Even the oven loves that pasta. It's so good inanimate objects desire it. Lasagna can work it.
While we waited for the oven to have its way with our dinner (not in the sexy way, but how do you think that would work?) Boyfriend sat on the coffee table with a box in hand. While out he came across this box filled with various dog treats for mutt. I passively watched as he opened the box and opened the packages of treats inside. My eyes flick to the television then back to Boyfriend. His fingers dig out a treat from the package he's holding and Boyfriend regards it, then smells it, I glance again at the television and back at Boyfriend just in time to see him nibble the corner of the treat. I will never get used to this. Boyfriend - and I love him for this, I do - tests out any new treats we give Mutt. He will never give anything to Mutt that he wouldn't eat himself.
Have you had these ones before? He takes a bite and lets the treat sweep across his palate. Yeah, we've had these before.
Boyfriend rips into a small box, and bites into what looks like spinach wrapped in phyllo pastry.
These spinach ones are great, try some.
Uh. No.
They're actually pretty good. He tosses a treat to Mutt who gobbles it up like he's just discovered the joy of eating.
I think I can hold out until dinner, but thanks.
Boyfriend shrugs, as if I don't know what I'm missing and puts the treats away. I pull a blanket up and over my head. Was that a dream? Not a dream? Wake me when the lasagna's ready.
Time for tea,
K
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