My husband grabs an expired box of pancake mix out of the pantry and asks:
"Do you have any emotional attachment to this mix?"
And I burst into tears.
I can remember, so clearly
Making a botched batch of zucchini pancakes.
With tofu noodles.
Making these with my sidekick. My right arm.
And then going out for pizza instead.
Because why would I think that zucchini pancakes, with tofu noodles, would be delicious?
This is my state of mind.
Holding onto things because there are memories associated.
I'm a hoarder.
It pains me to throw away anything that has any sort of attachment to Michael.
Stu put the pancake mix back in the closet. For another day.
I am a crazy woman. With a very sweet husband.
Who asks first because he knows me.
And doesn't think I am losing it.
Or at least he keeps that part to himself.