He has ruined me from ever wanting to eat leftovers. I used to love warming up my pot roast or ham casserole, but now the thought of doing so reminds me of being constipated at Disney World. Another words, it just doesn't sound like fun.
Mike hates leftovers, and even more so, any leftover food warmed in a microwave. He says he can taste the radiation. True, that's weird unless he has the most sensitive taste buds ever, but I'm starting to agree with him.
So now on leftover night, I shoot him a text message about 4 p.m., warning of his potential fate, unless he picks up his own dinner. His usual standby is a chicken burrito from Chipolte. Here's the problem: every time he brings his burrito home, I find myself lusting after his food, and super mad that I'm having 1 or 2-day old food. (By the way-If you've never had Chipolte, run, don't walk to your nearest one. The flavor is like a party in your mouth.)
So tonight, I texted him, warning him of the impending doom with leftover roast and potatoes. He texted back, saying, "Perhaps I'll pick up Chipolte."
I thought for a minute and sent back this text, "Shoot, that sounds good. Will you pick me up a steak burrito too with a little bit of sour cream?"
He texted back, "But who's going to eat leftovers?"
I texted back, "Not it!"
So that, my friends, is why I've been ruined. I may never want leftovers again. Maybe that's why we need kids....they can help clean out the fridge!