I am now in a race to eat all the leftovers in the refrigerator. My parents, worried that I'll starve to death while they're away, left a lot of stuff for me to eat. But just like the last time they went on a vacation, I have not been able to eat all of them, at least not in a timely manner. I don't know if they intentionally make so much food to ensure I'll never go hungry, but they can't believe that I'll be able to eat all of the stuff in the fridge before it goes bad.
As is my wont, I take the occasion of them being away to alternate between eating at home and eating outside. Without having to worry about dinner, I decide where I want to eat and how much. It's good in the fact that whenever we have dinner I always put pressure on myself to eat-eat-eat. With them gone ... well, to be honest with you, I still have trouble overindulging, just not with the food that's left for me at home.
When I do eat at home, I think I, for the most part, pace myself. For example, before they left Mother stored some ribs, four at a time, and wrapped them in tinfoil for me to eat at my leisure. Four at a time is a decent meal that satisfies me without getting me overstuffed. And I have eaten two of them -- despite the fact that they were prepared just before my parents left over two weeks ago. I might have freaked myself out when I opened up the second section of rib leftovers and saw white dots on it. Wanting to make sure whether or not the meat was getting spoiled, I checked online at a government website and it said cooked meat can last ... three or four days. It's been at least two weeks.
So now I'm at a crossroads. I don't want to waste the ribs, but I don't have the stomach to eat the, what, six tin foils of ribs left. By the way, I cooked that second portion of ribs in the toaster oven; I obviously survived eating it, although I felt kind of queasy for the first part of today, even though that may be hypochondria. And I scraped away those white dots while the ribs were cooking, so they may have been fat or something. Still don't believe I can just take my time with the ribs, but until I get really sick, I'm not going to just cook and eat all of them at once because I'm afraid they might spoil. I'm sure my folks and Grandmother have fed me stuff that's been in there for weeks, if not months. And yet I'm still here!
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I had ignored the other stuff in the fridge because Mother told me the ribs and the plastic tubs of fried rice she made for me. For example, there are still several pieces of chicken in there. I should eat those. There is also half a lemon that's sitting in a compartment. It's shriveling, so I should throw that away.
Then there are a couple of other tubs in there. I opened them up Tuesday, while I was doing all this fretting over the spoiled food, and for the life of me I couldn't tell what the hell was in there. There was no mold, and frankly I didn't smell it (apparently a sure way to tell if the meat has gone bad), so I think it's OK to eat ... whatever the hell it is.
But that brings up another dilemma: Do I just automatically throw food away just because I don't recognize it? I guess normal people would say, "Fuck yeah!" but I ain't no normal person. I will say that those things in there look like meat, therefore it probably is something I've had before. And if that's the case, why would it be repulsive to eat -- beyond the possibility that they might not be edible anymore?
But I hesitated and decided not to eat that. However, I did decide to do a second helping of leftovers and help myself to three of the remaining seven pieces of chicken. It was all I could stomach. I was going to eat more of them tonight (Wednesday night), but I got a free ticket to see Saving Mr. Banks (a great movie, by the way; I think Tom Hanks finally justifies the two Oscars he got two decades ago with his portrayal of Walt Disney), so popcorn was my dinner. I get to eat home tonight (Thursday night), however, and along with another portion of ribs I think I need to tackle something else in the refrigerator. And hopefully I'll live to tell the tale.
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Oh, BTW, I just logged onto VEF. First time in twelve days and 41 minutes. See, I'm not addicted to porn!
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