Over the weekend I heard the news that the world was going to end Monday night.
“Snow!” the news shouted, grabbing me by the collar and shaking hard. “Hide your children! Shoot your neighbors! Take their groceries! Siphon gas! SNOW!!”
I paid it no mind. My neighbors have terrible groceries.
However because various predictions all contained the words “record amounts”, I did have to pay at least grudging attention.
For the most part, even massive End Of Days level snowstorms have very little impact on my home life. After all, I have a Subaru, and a wife who is contractually obligated to clear my driveway. That combination pretty much guarantees I’ll survive the worst Mother N. can throw at me.
But my work life is a different matter. Although I rarely have trouble getting to my office, people who don’t have Subarus (and pack mule wives) sometimes determine that I can’t go home again. Roads get closed, other announcers can’t dig out from their igloos and the rest of us have to stay on to cover their shifts, stations want their reporters on stand-by all day long, etc. The upshot is, I’ve learned through hard experience that when the going gets tough, the tough better pack a lunch and a pillow.
Looking at the forecast yesterday I figured I’d better prep for at least a two night stay in my cozy little radio studio. The storm is expected to hit hard for about a day and a half, after which it will probably be at least another twelve hours before road crews and client radio stations allow me to leave.
No problem. I’m an old hand at this. In a corner of my basement I keep a comprehensive set of supplies ready to go for just this purpose: a fold up foam mattress, a Spongebob blanket and matching pillow, and…well, that’s it. But that’s all I need, other than food. Of course though, I’m not about to keep a pile of food in the corner of my basement for any length of time. NewWifey(tm) would steal it.
That meant I had to make food fresh. So yesterday afternoon I whipped up enough calories to sustain me, my wife, several of my neighbors, and the entire adult population of Cincinnati Ohio for the next 5 months. Hey, you never know. I mean, it’s snow. SNOW!
I won’t bore you with specifics of what I made (*cough*paellachickenmoleroastveggieterrinecharsiu*cough*), just know that there was a lot of it, and at the end it was all packed into matching RubberMaid LockLid(tm) container thingies and thown into the fridge. I actually made more than I was gonna take to work – way more – because I knew that if I wasn’t there to cook for her, and there were only ingredients in the house, not finished dishes, NewWifey(tm) would starve to death. So a bunch of the RubberMaids were for her.
At 8 o’clock last night then, I hit the sack.
At 9 o’clock last night NewWifey(tm) decided she wanted a snack.
Now, NewWifey(tm) has not been feeling all that well since we returned from our busman’s holiday in Nashville last week. She gets this kind of creeping malaise sometimes when she has to stay at hotels. I think it’s a reaction to breathing actual clean indoor air for once, which is a real shock to her system. Anyway, her tummy was a little upset. Upset to the point that the gourmet fair I’d packed for her didn’t seem enticing at all.
So she made banana pudding.
Scrounging around in the cabinets she’d found a lone, forgotten box of Jello Instant Pudding mix that had an expiration date of February 2015. I don’t know when, why, or how it came to be there, but there it was. If I’d seen it, it would have been thrown out by March of 2015. Boxed pudding is the Devil’s dessert. If you’re not cook enough to make pudding from scratch, you don’t deserve to eat pudding. Or anything else, if you ask me.
NewWifey(tm) made the box of pudding. Then, in a nod to her White Trailer Trash heritage she lined the bottom of a RubberMaid LockLid(tm) container with Mini Nilla Wafers, poured in some pudding, added a middle layer of wafers, the rest of the pudding, and crumbled Mini Nilla Wafers on top. She ate some, then popped the rest in the fridge.
Guess which RubberMaid LockLid(tm) container I grabbed in my haste at 3am as I was scrambling to get out the door to go to work this morning?
Guess what I now have to live off of for the next two days while my wife gets to scarf down paella, chicken mole, roast veggie terrine, and char siu? That she probably doesn’t even want?
Dammit. Why couldn’t it at least have been pistachio pudding? Or Char Siu? (Hmmmmm. I may have to try that when I get back.…)
Anyway, that’s my tale of woe for the day. The prospect of subsisting on nothing but Southern White Trash Banana Nilla Pudding – from a box – for the next 2 days. I’m sure some kid in South Sudan is weeping for me right now.
If you’re not – or even if you are, but I suspect that pool is a lot smaller – hit the comment box below and let me know if you agree with the following statement: “Boxed pudding is the new AIDS.”
And…FOR GODS SAKE, STOP READING THIS AND SAVE YOURSELF! IT’S GONNA SNOWWWWWW!!!!