COLUMN: My stomach is filled with macaroni and cheese
Last year when I lived in the residence halls I was so anxious to get my own apartment, where I was sure I would be wearing a white apron and hat, cooking extravagant meals of shrimp, scallops and lobster every night.
I had some awakenings this year. Sea scallops at $18 or $20 a pound at Meijer? No thank you. They'd taste like rubber balls if I cooked them, anyway.
My mother did her best to raise me to be a balanced eater. She tried so hard. But I was a terrible child.
Once, she made dinner and it was something I didn't like. I think it was pork chops. When I complained, she told me I could eat it or go to bed for the night. I looked her right in the eye, got up and went to my room.
I've expanded my horizons since I was little, but I'm no less particular. I've encountered a lot of problems in the residence halls because of that.
I'd be in the residential cafeterias last year, picking the mushrooms and onions out of my pasta, wondering if I was doomed to starve because they wouldn't cook my noodles without all the ickies.
But it wasn't all bad. On popcorn chicken wrap night, I went crazy.
Now I have my own apartment, and instead of being a gourmet chef, I really don't eat much at all. When I have a 30 minute break between classes all I have time to make is macaroni and cheese because of preparation time and the dishes afterwards, and if I'm out of milk, I'm out of luck.
Of course, I've thought of preparing food and freezing it until I'm ready to eat it. Unfortunately, I lack the foresight and always forget about it. When I come home at night, I'm tired and not ashamed to admit that I feel too lazy to cook three pounds of chicken.
Early in the year for some reason, I ate a lot of shrimp. Sam's Club shrimp. Now I'm so tired of it, I'm ready to take what I have left and return it to the wild.
Last year an adviser promised me I would miss not having to cook or do dishes. I told him he was crazy. Now my stomach is telling me I'm crazy.
Although, I do have to clarify something — though I miss the convenience, I do not regret moving off campus. Had I not left the dorms, I'd be so broke that I would have turned to loan sharks to pay the bills and they'd be coming to pummel me with nail-ridden planks.
But at least I'd be able to run away on a full stomach.
