Last night, even though it was two hundred million thousand below zero, Ned and I went to a restaurant whose name bugs me: Pastabilities.
Oh, stop. Pastabilities. However, it.is.delicious. You can't go wrong there. It is an impastability.
I had The Traditional, which is penne pasta that cost more than a penne, with pink sauce and heart-healthy meatballs. Ned had The Natural, which is Robert Redford ground up and sprinkled across your noodles.
"Do you wanna go to Rite Aid?" I asked, as the last of Bob was scooped up and swallowed. "I need a tongue scraper."
You'd think maybe the bloom is off the rose, seeing as I'm able to announce stuff like that, but in truth I'm still pretty bloomy and rosey about Ned. I just also have the utter inability to not tell everyone everything.
Fortunately, Ned was down with that idea, and even though it was right next door, I still drove over there. Because six hundred million thousand and two below zero. Before I gave up Facebook for Lent, I saw one of my friends, who grew up here, announcing a link with, "Here are some tips for getting through this deadly cold weather we're having."
Deadly cold weather. Like we're in Greenland or something. Dude, I'd spend whole seasons in temperatures like this. I walked to school in temperatures like this when I myself was a single digit. Here I still am. Alive. I think people in the South think if you walk outside and it's below 40, you might could die immediately, right in front of your silk-flower welcome wreath. Really, it's sort of cute.
Ned's mom called him earlier in the week to similarly warn him about the weather. My mother would have done the same thing. When she visits, she'll say things like, "Do you have your keys?" as we leave my house, as if the other 364 days of the year I am constantly getting myself locked out of my home because no one is there to warn me."Did you remember to put in contacts? Are you breathing? You have to breathe all day, honey, or you'll die."
I am just theorizing, really, but based on having a mother, I think mothers are physically unable to stop mom-ing, even when their kid is 50 and has jowls.
Anyway, Ned's mom said, "It's going to be really cold this week, so bundle up. This weather is no joke."
"Weather walks into a bar," Ned said, then gazed at himself fondly in a mirror.
Anyway, we went to Rite Aid, which was what I was going to blog about and here it is 900 minutes later. I found the tongue scrapers right away, and Ned found that Sports Illustrated where that model is showing us her cooch. "Have you seen this?" asked Ned, showing me the model showing me her cooch.
I wonder if "cooch" is not an acceptable term if one is a feminist. ...Mom? What's your take on "cooch"? And yes, I will remember to go to work today and to wear clothes there and not show m'cooch.
The point is, right there in the aisle next to Cooch Illustrated, was a whole aisle of Easter stuff. EASTER stuff. Easter is 38 days from now. I know that because that's how many days till I can go back on Facebook. "Ned! They have Easter candy!"
I feel like this was less interesting information for Ned than it was for me, because he was on cooch watch, which if there's a DARK-CHOCOLATE COCONUT EGG in the other aisle, I don't see how you have to even think about which to attend to.
Neither did Ned.
The point is, that aisle was smokin'. Not literally, because scary. But dudes, they had a whole huge section, all the rows, of different Russell Stover Easter Egg flavors, one of which Ned put IN THE FRIDGE to eat "later" that I am desperately hoping he forgets today.
There was flavored Easter grass. FLAVORED! They had green apple, which is probably disgusting, and strawberry, and blueberry, which was the flavor I chose for my fantasy Easter basket that I began creating for myself, and guess who's gonna fire up her Pinterest for a brand-new Very Chubby June page?
There were not only your traditional Easter bunnies, holding those candy carrots that you always eat first, but also HELLO KITTY EASTER BUNCATS. Hell, I don't know what they were, cats or bunnies. Hello Kitty something Easter-y. Maybe it was Hello Kitty Jesus, which would be just like those Communists over in Japan to invent.
Are there Communists in Japan? I really have no idea. Perhaps if I spent less time in the Easter aisle and more time reading the paper.
But that's the crazy talk.
"Oh, wow, look at this." I showed Ned the chocolate cross they had. Seriously, how disappointed would you be if your Ned Flanders parents gave you a chocolate cross instead of a bunny? I feel like there's no carrot on a candy cross. No eyeballs. At least I hope not.
They also had candy bars that had Jesus on them.
"Oh, wow! I've never seen all this before! I am in the South," I told Ned, before I headed off to the chocolate cream Peeps. CHOCOLATE-CREAM PEEPS! Is it just me, or are they going crazier for Easter now? Have you seen all this religious-themed candy before? I mean, I get it. People who are religious are probably sick and tired of Easter meaning a marshmallow Peep. It's just the first I've noticed such a thing.
I told Ned I'd buy him a Russell Stover Easter Egg, because hey, big spender, plus they were two for a dollar, and I couldn't very well gorge myself on two of them right there in front of Ned and my new tongue scraper. I like how the possibility of NOT buying two when there's a two-for-one special did not even remotely enter my mind.
(Oh, man, Ned just left for work and I think he didn't remember his egg! It's in the fridge so it shall not perish, but I feel like it shall disappear.
Sorry, Ned, Happy Easter.)
Carbly,
June
