Expiry Dates Are The Bane Of My Existence

(and I mean ‘expiry’ dates, because I’m way beyond caring about the ‘sell by’ dates)

I’ve had many Banes of My Existence in the past, from any institution that insists on using Windows computers with a Nazistic rigidity (forcing me to export everything to a Word doc and then spend like another half hour reformatting it because I’m cursed with a slightly better computer than they’re using), to ignorant but well-meaning parents that think you can make a kids’ Halloween party ‘diabetic-friendly’ by replacing the donuts in the ‘eat a donut suspended from a string on the ceiling without using your hands’ game with a whole apple, which is embarrassingly difficult to grab with one’s teeth when compared to the soft body of a donut, complete with a tongue-hole (the ring).

But my latest Bane is perhaps the greatest: that food tends to, you know, expire. I know that with modern technology (read ‘life-shortening preservatives’) our food lasts much longer than it did in generations past, but I for one am continually caught out by not going to the shops one week, thinking I have enough garlic, onions and peppers to make my fried rice interesting, only to be caught with my trousers down come Thursday night, when all those accessories resemble rotting goblin flesh and are fatally unfit for human consumption, because I bulk-bought them a month ago and kept them in a cupboard.

I’m also too perplexed by fridges and freezers to use them in any way: some food should be frozen, then cooked; some frozen, then thawed, then cooked; some refrigerated, then cooked; some refrigerated, then eaten cold; and for some it doesn’t matter as long as you’re not eating anything that moves, which introduces the sort of free will into the system that you get in Paradise Lost – yeah, you get to choose stuff, but if you do you’ll probably be damned for eternity.

It gets worse when I have to throw stuff out, then re-buy everything a few days later, adding an economic element to this particular Bane, and the fact that smells are easily contained within a cupboard means if one thing goes off, and I don’t open that cupboard for a few days because I can’t smell anything wrong with it, everything inside will reek of brown tomatoes, missed opportunities, and infantile failure for a week, so I’ll have to chuck even the stuff that hasn’t expired.

But this is just one of many little things I’ll have to learn about being an adult I suppose; that, and the answer to the questions ‘How long can you use a set of bed clothes without washing it? No, really, what’s the absolute longest time you can go between laundry trips?’

NaNo Update – For those of you that care I’m still at the 6,000 words I was on yesterday, not because of a lack of inspiration, but because trying to do laundry, cook and eat two meals, write two blog posts and read 300 pages of Tristram Shandy in one go is rather difficult to balance; and I’ve still got to make tea, finish my day’s worth of Shandy, and get my arse over to Karate for two hours, so don’t expect any miraculous plot developments by tomorrow. And as a tangent, Tristram Shandy is the most. Annoying. Read. Ever.

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