Can or Can't Opener
Sunday I kept my word and met up with a group from my church to play soccer.
Nothing makes me realize how unfit I am like praying that I was chosen for the the Shirts team in Shirt versus Skins and then trying to hide astonishment at the chiseled ab-ness of some of my fellow parishioners (there's something hot and unholy about that).
While huffing and puffing up and down the small soccer field, I started doing what any cake-loving kid would do and began dreaming of the meal that I would eat later that evening. Of course, it was going to be healthy. A lean protein like fish or shrimp.
After it got too dark to play, Aggie and I drove to the HEB to pick up some food stuff. I've heard before that you shouldn't go grocery shopping hungry or after a workout and I understand why. Everything looked like a flipping jelly doughnut. And I was wanton for a jelly doughnut, you-know-what-I'm-sayin. Anyway, I got this crazy idea as I walked into the store that I would make my meal for less that $10. Activate anxiety. Activate Mission Impossible music.
I'll buzz through the shopping part as it wasn't exciting. I settled on shrimp (to be turned into baked coconut shrimp), rice and fiesta bean salad blend in a can.
I was at J's place doing laundry, so I knew that I was limited in my cooking tools. I knew that he didn't have a can opener. That's a lie. He has an electric can opener and I've battled that thing before and decided that I wasn't up for fight it tonight.
So, I bought a $2 manual can opener.
I brought my bounty to the shortest checkout line (for once in my life I was able to stand in the 15 items and under line). The cashier's look screamed, "I play Dungeons and Dragons, wear ironic graphic boxers and live with my mother." You know, male, low pony tale with hair parted straight down the middle and small glasses. Looks like he might program software in his downtime.
I finally got up to the front of the line and the guy began checking out my stuff - er, groceries. As he comes upon my can opener, he says "oh this won't do."
I returned a small, strained laugh.
"Yea, I know."
It was a piece of shit-can-opener. I was well aware. The type of can opener that you through against the wall after you mangle a can lid into a murder weapon. If you're laughing, you've been there. We all have.
It was this can opener or the $15 KitchenAid. And that shit would have blown my budget. And (of course) I've got my KitchenAid can opener at my house.
"I mean," he said, "I used to work in a restaurant and I had this boss that every two weeks would buy me a new can opener (what the heck is ponytail guy doing with can openers?). And this just won't work. It won't last."
"I just need it to open one can," I said, realizing that I had boob sweat stain prominent on my University Democrats shirt. A thrill, I'm sure.
"Oh, it'll do that for sure. Probably 20 cans. But not much more than that."
"That's fine," I said. Paid and carried out my shrimp, other stuff, and less-than can opener.
Thanks for your concern HEB guy.
Other Stuff This Weekend
J was out of town in Chicago with his sister. She was in charge of planning the trip and did not invite me. Okay. I see how it is.
I had a church leadership retreat Friday and Saturday. Came home carsick as all get out Saturday and slept until Sarah Neill (who was watching Aggie) knocked on my door and woke me up (and the litttle dog jumped on my bed and really woke me up).
Sunday I had church and gardened. And then played soccer and did laundry at Jarrod's place. It wasn't until hours into my laundry doing that I realized that the heat on the dryer was turned to low and finally understood why my clothes wouldn't dry.