Marrying George Clooney

ken is not wasteful @ all. i am. if you read my book you will find a chapter all about linen napkins vs. paper towels and i’ll leave it at that. don’t wanna ruin it for you. read it, and then report back to me. but this isn’t about linen. this is about pasta. as in how many of you – oh, come on now – have tons and tons of open pasta boxes and bags in the kitchen cupboard. i’m talking penne, rigatoni, spaghetti, linguini, orzo… i’m talking half boxes, half bags, teeny bags. we have a collection of pasta in our cupboard, swear to god, some of it is so old it’s been in our house pre-renovation. it’s sort of like when we moved in we took all the old pasta with us from other houses, apts and places and just put it all in the cupboard. tucked away in the corner, piled neatly one box on top of another. next to the gazillion cans of diced tomatoes and five hundred cans of artichoke hearts which are so old that i’m pretty sure – due to age -they outlived the botulism scare. but right there in the corner are boxes and boxes of pasta, and for whatever reason, i’m not wholly sure, i don’t use that pasta. i don’t go near it. i go out and buy a new box, and use 3/4 or 1/2 and tuck it in the coner next to the others. a bad disguting habit worthy of weekly therapy, i know. so, tonight ken and i are going to have a homemade yummy white clam sauce dinner. delicious.i make the clam sauce, and now that ken is retired (YAY I SAID THE WORD WITHOUT VOMITING) he likes to help with the cooking. i show him the nice new box of linguini. he smiles, nods. pours me some more wine. he’s leaning up against the counter, looking all steve mcQueen-ish. sexy, rough and tough, okay not rough and tough, but sexy and sweet. if he were tough and rough we’d be divorced by now. and then the phone rings and he motions for me to answer it which immediately makes me a bit suspicious. why didn’t he answer it? hmmm. he likes answering the phone because it’s the only time he gets to handle and talk into the receiver because most all calls are for me. in other words, it gives him a false sense of ownership. so, i answer the phone, and as i’m chit chatting away when i see something out of the corner of my eye that is absolutely indescribable. my husband my eco friendly save the planet let’s eat off the floor guy, takes an old bag of pasta from the corner of the cabinet and trades it for the full new bag. i am mortified. i quickly get off the phone and i say to him: hey buddy what’s up with that sneaky shit? and he says: you are wasteful. waste-ful. waste-full. you switched my pasta, i say hands on my very full waist. then he said, no more buying any more pasta until all this – pointing his index finger cupboard heaven bound – is eaten. NO MORE NEW PASTA.

ok.

ken ate 6 lbs of pasta tonight.