Stand-Off

Something horrible happened to the toothpaste about three months ago–Or, I should say, something horrible started happening to the toothpaste about three months ago.  It started with an explosion of some sort, or perhaps a stabbing.  Toothpaste is all over the bathroom drawer, making a sticky, minty coating on everything else in it.  Prescription drugs, Bengay, Clearasil (you know, things every thirty year old uses)–everything is minty fresh and will stay that way until one of us folds, or until my mother, who is hopefully not reading this post, comes to visit.  The toothpaste has been oozing for so long now that things are starting to stick to it.  It started with a wad of cotton balls and has escalated from there.

July

September

The toothpaste is just one of many ongoing standoffs we currently have going on in our house.  A classic is who is going to empty the vacuum cleaner canister.  The canister is clear(ish) and you can actually see pine needles from last year’s Christmas tree in there.

Another good one is the kiwi on the kitchen floor.  I honestly have ZERO idea when we last had kiwi.  In my defense, this one wasn’t meant to be a stand-off.  I actually did try to get it with the swifter a couple of weeks ago.  I squirted it like five or six times and even used the little scrubby part on the side of the cleaning pad to try to get it, to no avail.  And when swifter fails, what are a girl’s other options?  None.  I’m going to have to move.

Floor kiwi, AFTER swiftering

And then there’s the Christmas lights that are still up, the light fixture in the stairway that has been burned out for three years (no lie), etc, etc.  Typical standoffs that any co-inhabitants have.  But this post isn’t about them.  It’s about food stand-offs, which are the best kind.

Years ago, when we lived in Peoria, we had this left-over hot dog that somehow ended up wrapped in foil on top of the fridge–not in it, on top of it.  It lived there for about a year before moving to Durham with us, where my mother finally threw it away when she came down to visit after Ella was born.  One would think it would smell horribly after a day or so, but it was remarkable odor free which is what made it so fascinating and portable.  For a while we tried serving it to each other.  It would appear in a bun at the dinner table, packed in a lunch, or stowed away in a briefcase.  It went to cook-outs, football games and baptisms.  It eventually became petrified and looked a little like the troll penis I found in my fridge in June.  It was a relic of sorts, and I was sad to see my mother toss it with a typically disgusted, “OH MY GOD, Amy.”

My favorite stand-off of all time, though, involves a piece of chicken and some green bean casserole.  Cream of mushroom soup is an ingredient in both of these foods, and milk joins the green bean mix as well, making it quite unfit for prolonged refrigeration.  And yet in the refrigerator it stayed, nestled side-by-side in one of those portioned containers, making its way slowly toward the abyss of the back of the middle shelf.  I tried to get rid of this leftover meal early on, but when I went to toss it after about a week Steve stopped me, claiming he’d eat it “tomorrow.”  Well, tomorrow turned into the next day and the next, and then it became a matter of principle.  I mean, I tried to throw it away once and he stopped me, so the burden of the leftovers transfers to him, right?  Time after time I would find it when cleaning out the fridge, and time after time Steve put it back in there instead of throwing it away.  It was there for about six weeks or so before I finally packed it in his lunch.  I spent the day chuckling at how nasty it would be when he opened it up in front of all of his friends and how he would have to buy a lame cafeteria lunch or go without–that’ll show him, I thought.  “So, how was your lunch,” I asked when he came home that day.  “It was fine.  Thank you for packing it.”  “Oh my God, you actually ATE it???” I asked in horror.  And he had.  “Steve, that was over a month old!  Didn’t you stop to think, wait, I don’t remember having this for dinner recently?  Hell, we haven’t had that kind of chicken or green bean casserole for over a month!”  “Noooo, it didn’t even cross my mind that we had’t had it in a while.  It’s not like I expected you to be feeding me really old food.  I mean, your mom threw away the hot dog.”  “Didn’t the SMELL give it away?  It contained dairy for christ’s sake!”  “Actually, I thought it tasted a little weird, but I ate it anyway.”  Nasty.  And the worst part is he didn’t even throw up.  Congratulations, Steve, you win that one.  But I’m not cleaning the toothpaste.  And if I can chisel the kiwi off, it’s going in your lunch.

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The recipe for the chicken doesn’t belong on my Half-Assed Vegetarian food blog, but it’s good and very easy to make (and it apparently holds up over time), so I’m going to post it.  Those of you who want it can click here: Stand-Off Stuffing Chicken.
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