November 21, 2002

I don’t cook. Or at least I rarely cook.

I’m a man, damn it! (Proof here.) And therefore I am a hunter-gatherer by nature -- or by stunted development or maybe out of sheer laziness.

In my refrigerator you will find Coca-Cola (Uh-oh, down to eight cans!), a jar of salsa, two take-out Chinese boxes, and a few slices of really not that old and probably still edible sausage pizza.

My cupboards contain tortilla chips (I have chips and salsa . . . I see a meal taking shape here.), a pile of little packets of soy sauce, hot mustard, and duck sauce (And I don’t even like duck sauce!), Maalox, Tums, and dog biscuits. The dog biscuits aren’t mine, I swear, not even in a pinch.

In the oven are my tax returns going back 10 years, along with at least a dozen boxes of cancelled checks. Okay, not really, but the stuff about the refrigerator and the cupboards is true, and the wasted space of an empty oven does kind of get on my nerves.

I don’t even own a microwave.

Let’s face it, if you get hungry at my place, you’re going to have to go out and find something to eat.

Anyway, today I realized I don’t have any plates or glasses, the box containing these items, considered everyday essentials in most homes, apparently was lost in the move.

I’m kind of disappointed. I’d had those plates for 18 years. And the glasses were a real find: big, tall, heavy, and just the right size and shape. I’d had them at least five years.

Oh, did I mention I moved in here seven weeks ago?

Seven weeks without plates or glasses. Do you think you could last that long? You would have noticed well before this, wouldn’t you?


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