In our household, certain responsibilities fall to certain people. The Boss, for example, knows that it is always going to be her responsibility to clean the bathroom. If she puts it off for a while and the soap scum starts getting a bit frisky with her in the shower, she knows it's her job to clean things up. Likewise, if I put off doing the dishes long enough for things to grow hair worthy of Donald Trump, I know I've got no one to blame but myself. In addition to being responsible for the dishes, I've also got to make sure that the trash doesn't overflow, and occasionally I'm asked to clean out the fridge. There are definitely worse things to have to take care of around the house (like cleaning the bathroom), so I do these things with no complaints.
One thing that always fall to me to take care of that I don't always enjoy doing is being the one person in our household responsible for eating the leftovers.
Neither The Boss or I know how to cook for just two people, so there always is remnants of meals chilling out in Tupperware in our fridge. For some reason The Boss doesn't like to eat leftovers (unless it's Chinese food), so for all the years we've been together, that responsibility has been left up to me. With certain foods, the leftovers aren't so bad. I mean, I could eat leftover pizza or spaghetti until the end of time. It's just those damn casseroles that I have a hard time with. The Boss will eat her one portion for dinner the night we make it, and the rest... Well...
I'll have it for lunch the next day, and for dinner that night. I'll pack some more for lunch the day after that, and by now I'm about two-thirds the way through it. The night before the third day that I'm having it for lunch again, I'll have nightmares about it and every time I burp I'm afraid mixed vegetables or globs of mashed potatoes are going to come up. I always reach my breaking point on the third day and say "Fuck it," pack the rest for lunch, and on my lunch break I'll shovel it down as fast as I can so that I'm barely tasting it.
I hate to waste food, but I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.
Freezing it isn't an option. Our freezer is where things go to die a miserable, cold, frostbitten, freezer burned death. If it goes in the freezer (unless it's ice cream, of course), I can guarantee you that it'll be forgotten about within seconds of closing the door. Given the wasteful alternative, I'd rather just suffer through it and eat it all myself as opposed to just throwing it out.
Earlier this week, on the third day of eating leftovers (beef stroganoff sans beef, avec peas), I had an idea. Why can't the government use force-feeding of leftovers as a form of coercion? Forget about water-boarding or solitary confinement or making the terrorists listen to Celine Dion tapes cranked to eleven. It doesn't matter if it's Shepherd's Pie, Green Bean Casserole, or whatever other concoction there is out there. Just feed them nothing but the same heated and reheated and reheated again casseroles.
Bet you five bucks they'd start talking by day four.