It’s 8:51 pm on Tuesday night. I have a post due tomorrow. I’m sick and have completely forgotten date night.
“Aw, babe, I was supposed to make us dinner and then write about it!”
We were supposed to have dinner on Saturday night, while I was home. But he had Monday and Tuesday off and would be spending the nights with me at school. I figured my spacious dorm kitchen would be better than his stove that requires a lighter to cook anything.
So I pushed off cooking until later. I don’t have ingredients, or a recipe. But Walmart is open and I could throw something together.
“Well what would you write about if you did cook dinner?” asked Andre.
I replied, “Probably how much of a fail it was.”
So he suggests that I take a picture of him with a bowl of cereal and he will make a face. We laugh it off, but I tell him that this is perfect and I know exactly what I’m going to write.
But I don’t even have cereal. Or milk.
So I take a package of oatmeal that I bought (I don’t like oatmeal, but I like to buy it sometimes just to make sure). I ask Andre what the worst flavor is. “Probably Strawberries & Cream.”
“Alright honey, here’s dinner.”
Some dry oatmeal.
“What? No milk?” he asked.