Any meal in a civilised household can turn into a savage clusterfuck at the drop of a hat, and our home is no exception. Jodi and I are like oil and vinegar when it comes to being organised, she’s anal about getting a plan set and a schedule followed (haha, anal), and I’m more of a ‘I can’t see why not planning this could fail, let’s give ‘winging it’ a shot’ sorta bloke. Take a chance and see what happens. Some things are meant to be random.
Look, I like dinner, really I do. But I’m a mood eater. Or a taste craver. I can’t imagine planning meals for a week when I’ve just had lasagne, the last thing I want to do, is to plan eating more food before the food I just ate has settled in my stomach. Know what I mean? Calm the fuck down people, it’s dinner. Not a royal buffet in the Queens Gardens. Maybe come lunch-time I might have an idea as to what I want, but before then it’s like asking me if I want to go be social on the weekend Wednesday morning. Depends on the day, a lot can change in 86 hours, like what I want for dinner as an example.
As usual I made my point before I could do some serious shit talking, so I’ll have to work on that. See if I can’t drag it out a bit longer. I’m hungry. End transmission.