My love of leftovers is getting out of hand.
Last night, we were supposed to have stir-fried seafood for dinner. I’d already gathered and prepped most of the ingredients, but when Jane got home, she wasn’t feeling great. I wasn’t exactly feeling it either—I’d been on my feet at the standing desk all day and had just finished an hour of squats at the gym. So when she said she wasn’t really up for a big dinner, I saw my chance.
There was some leftover fish curry in the fridge from the night before. Dry. A little sad. Definitely past its prime. But I didn't care. I practically leapt at the opportunity.
"Why don’t we just have that?" I suggested, trying to sound casual. Trying to hide my growing excitement.
She agreed. And I swear—BOOYAH!—that was the highlight of my day.
I grabbed the slightly stale fish curry, nuked it in the microwave for two minutes, and inhaled it like it was the greatest meal I’d ever had. And honestly? I think I enjoyed it more than I would have enjoyed the fresh stir-fry.
Because I have a problem. A leftover problem.
(crickets chirping)