While we were eating dinner recently, Husband mentioned how full he was from his holiday potluck at work. He rattled off all the fabulous dishes people had brought, and I suddenly had an urge to run out and get a temp job just for the party food. Until I remembered how spirit-crushing my early office jobs were, and then I lost my appetite.
Me: I didn’t know you were having a potluck today. What did you bring?
Him: A bag of Funyuns.
Me: You brought a bag of Funyuns?
Him: Yes, Funyuns. And everybody loved them.
Okay, here’s my theory. He forgot about the potluck until the last minute, then he was too scared to bring it up lest I become enraged, and so he devised this brilliant Funyun plan. Friends of Husband, does that sound right?
I really shouldn’t criticize since the end result was me not having to do any work. I’m rarely motivated to cook when I don’t get to partake in the enjoyment in any way. For me, cooking is a moderately selfish act. That anyone else benefits is somewhat coincidental.
But Funyuns? Surely there’s a classier cheat when you forget all about your own holiday party than onion-flavored corn rings. Something else that’s cheap and easily grabbed at a Mobil Mart on the Pike. Like cigarettes.