Speaking of which...

Last night's attempt at dinner was a disaster.

It was around 3:30 in the morning, and I was staggering around the kitchen. I thought about making either chicken or shrimp with a box of Rice-a-Roni I had in the cupboard. When I opened the box, I found everything was infested with little crawly things. Ugh.

Down the toilet it went.

(The problem came from the store where I had just purchased it. Long story, but the couscous I made the other night was fine, and that box had been stored for months in the same cabinet.)

Then I saw a can of white clam sauce staring at me. I thought this would suffice. Pasta and clam sauce - why not? I opened the can, emptied it into a small saucepan and proceeded to add my usual seasonings. Finally, a couple of pinches of salt. As I reached for the spoon to sample everything, the rubber stopper on the bottom of the salt shaker came loose and dumped a huge amount of salt into the sauce. It was no use - the clam sauce was absolutely and totally ruined.

Down the toilet it went.

By now, the desire to cook even the simplest meal was gone. I felt like the life had been totally drained out of me, and no power on earth could restore it.

Tired, angry and frustrated, I opened a can of tuna.



Tomorrow is another day.

Signor V.