Our refrigerator is where leftovers go to die. Too many pieces of food fail to get the proper burial they deserve. Instead of the more humane route of going down the garbage disposal and being chopped into little bits, they spend a week in icebox purgatory awaiting their fate. A once delicious meal remembered no more or at least forgotten for a few days until we recognize a strange odor coming from the kitchen.
After the loser of paper, rock, scissors musters the courage to open up the door and investigate, Jenn and I then proceed to play another game: Guess That Leftover. Jenn gives me my options: (A) Chicken & Rice (B) Chicken Marsala (C) Chicken Teriyaki (D) Chicken Casserole. This is a tough call because, as you can tell, the bird is the word very often for us at dinner. I take a stab in the dark and guess D. Jenn informs me there are some lovely parting gifts, but she has never made that type of casserole before in her life. So, either all of the ingredients miraculously reformed into a new super food or it is the Chicken & Rice we had last Thursday night for dinner.
I honestly do not understand why Jenn continues the silly charade of taking the table scraps, placing them in Tupperware and wedging the food somewhere in the fridge. I get that she is trying to be more frugal and a good steward when it comes to food. Yet, after over seven years of marriage, she can probably count on one hand how many times I have had leftovers. The fact that I tell her to Zip it when she suggests we eat what is in the Ziploc bothers Jenn to no end. She has no problems with nuking day old food in the microwave and enjoying it all over again.
What I find hilarious is for as much as I am a leftover snob in the food arena; I have no problem expecting Jenn and the girls to be satisfied with my leftovers. Most evenings all they receive is my leftover attention after a hard day of work. It is served in a variety of different ways: disengaged conversation with remote control as a side item or a distracted mind stuffed with the constant worries of what projects are coming down the pipeline.
Not wanting to disappoint anyone almost always leads me to disappointing the three girls I say I love the most. My entire focus is on getting the job done so I will feel valued while the “littles” are left to pick up the crumbs of what remains. This places more responsibility on Jenn’s plate as a mother, which means it is something I need to fix. So, when I opened up the fridge tonight and saw some cold spaghetti in a plastic container I went to town on it with a fork. Leftovers in my marriage are going to be a thing of the past.