Randy is going to hate that title. I mean, really hate it. Randy nags me about blog post titles all the time.
I can hear him now. “Michelle. Sweetheart. This looks like a recipe post. You don’t write recipe posts.”
My first choice for the blog post title was Something Sweet For The Motherfucking Kids, but I’m afraid that would make Randy’s head for real pop off.
Have you guys seen Aunt Fee videos? I love her so goddamn much. That’s where my title comes from.
You know what I wish? I wish I could improve my diet and not fantasize about Gene Wilder. Not any Gene Wilder. Willy Wonka Gene Wilder.
I hope when we die and go to heaven, we get to meet Willy Wonka and drink from a chocolate river.
Yes, I know that didn’t go well for Augustus Gloop, but this is heaven and you totally get to drink from the chocolate river in heaven.
We have been making some herculean attempts at improving our diet.
We have very nearly succeeded, sometimes making it 36 hours before eating cinnamon toast and hot chocolate. Or buying little powdered donuts. Fucking hell, I’d give Randy’s left nut for some little powdered donuts right now.
On a scale between “organic, gluten free shit that tastes like lawn clippings” and “Just lower me face first into a vat of sausage gravy” we are at the “meh, low calorie frozen dinners aren’t as bad as gummy worms and lard for lunch”.
Our sort-of-improved-diet requires we have something sweet.
We are willing to eat something small and willing to sacrifice rich and delicious for barely acceptable.
So, I’d say, for the last few days we have totally done the least we can do. Not perfect. But 80 calorie coconut ice cream bars and sugar free chocolate pudding are better than a king size Butterfinger or Ben and Jerry’s.
We made dinner that consisted of frozen, pre-assembled chicken cordon bleu and sauteed asparagus. At least “value meal” can’t be used to describe our dinner.
We finished eating and I went to take a shower. Randy went to his office.
After an undetermined time, he decided I had been in the shower too long and returned to the kitchen. To be fair, I had been in the shower a ridiculously long time. I had a fuck ton of made up arguments to catch up on.
I hate to brag, but my record remains unbroken. I have still won every single made up argument that I have in the shower.
I got out of the shower and heard Randy downstairs. I wrapped my hair up, put on my ratty bathrobe, and went downstairs to join him.
Randy: You were in the shower forever.
Me: Yeah. Long day.
Randy: I was going to make us both a drink, but I didn’t know what you wanted, so I came downstairs and made myself a drink.
Me: That’s cool. I have ice water.
Randy: Man, I have to tell you about the pudding.
Me: What about the pudding.
Randy: I saw the wrapper for the coconut ice cream on the counter. Was that you?
Randy: I should be a detective.
Me: Sure, Kojak. Joey’s at work. I’m the only other person here. If you didn’t eat it, then it’s not much of a mystery.
Randy: Anyway, that made me want something sweet. But I didn’t want that. So I looked for some pudding cups and I saw the cardboard pudding thingy and the goddamn thing was empty.
Me: I think that was Joey.
Randy: I looked again and there was a 4 pack in the back on the bottom shelf.
Randy: I was very happy.
Me: I get that.
Randy: There was not a single piece of clean silverware. None. No forks, knives, or spoons. Not even measuring spoons. There was only a meat thermometer, a turkey baster, and bottle caps.
Me: It drives me nuts when you put beer caps in the silverware drawer. The fucking garbage can is right there.
Randy: That’s not the point.
Randy: Anyway, I know I started the dishwasher earlier. I went in the dishwasher and nothing was clean. Someone must have stopped it.
Me: Pretty sure that was Joey, too.
Randy: I got a spoon out and washed it. Then, I started the dishwasher. I looked around the kitchen to see if I could add anything else since the dishwasher was running. I only found a shot glass and spoon. So, I got a pudding out of the fridge and went to get the spoon that I just washed. It was the spoon I put in the dishwasher.
Randy: I didn’t have the pudding.
Me: You didn’t have any?
Randy: I know when it’s time to admit defeat.
Let me end this by saying that in thinking about writing this post, I got to thinking about pudding cups. Randy had gone back upstairs and I was still in the kitchen. The dishwasher had just started. Then I spied a plastic spoon by the stove, behind the garlic and the lemons that Randy missed. I had used the spoon to measure olive oil for sauteing the asparagus. I ran cold water over the spoon and kind of wiped the oil beads off with my fingers. Then I dried it with a paper towel because I’m not a savage.
The inside of my mouth is a little oily now, but I had my pudding. Because unlike Randy, I am not a quitter.