Self and Soup.

26 05 2008

I am sitting on the orange couch, balancing a bowl of soup on my leg. Self plops herself down heavily next to me, almost spilling contents of said bowl onto freshly laundered yoga pants.

Me: Heh! Waw -ih!

Self: Ooh. Sorry. I’m exhausted! You know I have been wide awake since 1 o’clock this morning?!

Me: Mee oo.

Self: Oh right. Yeah. [looks sidelong at Me.] Hey. Why are you talking like that?

Me: I bunt mah hung.

Self: What’s that?

Me: I BUNT MAH HUNG. Onna soup.

Self: You burnt your tongue, you say.

Me: Uh-huh.

Self: Ouch. Sucks. Is it good at least? The soup?

Me: I own no. 

Self: Why not?

Me: I cann hase it.

Self: Mind if I try?

Me: Go ahead.

[picking up bowl and stirring contents.]

Self: What is this? Glue? It looks like snot, Gina. 

Me: Sir it!

Self: I am stirring it. What’s…what is this? Noodles? Are these shell pastas? They’re the smallest pastas I’ve ever seen. And they’re…all…stuck…together. … Are they even cooked?

Me: Sorry. I led it boil over.

Self: I guess you did. And then you ate this? 

Me: Yeah. But I bunt my hung.

Self: So I see. Where’d you get it?

Me: The store. 

Self: Let me guess. It’s soup in a bag.

Me: Uh-huh. 

Self: What else is new. [shaking her head in shame.] Gina, Gina, Gina. You can’t cook soup in a bag? It’s soup. In. A. BAG. for crying out loud. All you had to do was open, pour, and stir. 

Me: I forgot to stir.

Self: No kidding. [still stirring] Seriously… This is like trying to stir a brick. 

Me: I forgot to stir! I was on the phone!

Self: What, for like an eon? It’s petrified already! Look, there’s little tomato and chive fossils. You actually ate this?

Me: I was hungry!

Self: You don’t have a knife or anything, do you? Seems like I could cut the soup and turn it into some kind of building material right now.

Me: Shut up. 

Self: No? No knife? A screwdriver then? Maybe a jackhammer?

Me: Are you finished?

Self: Honestly. I have never seen anyone screw up water and vegetables quite like you do. [shaking head, whispering under her breath] Open. Pour. Stir. 

Me: So I won’t cook for you anymore. 

Self: Honey, I don’t know whether that makes me feel sorry for you or happy for me. But I’ll stick with happy for me. 

Me: I told you. I was on the phone. With Dennis. Grant me that.

Self: Open. Pour. Stir. That’s all you had to do.

Me: But–!

Self: That’s all I’m saying.

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10 responses

26 05 2008
annefisler

I yuss yuve Self – she’s so honess…

26 05 2008
ginacoggio

She’s also kind of a jerk. Do you see what I have to contend with everyday? Now do you see why I need so much yoga?

26 05 2008
Jennie

Did it take you a long time to figure out how to type the burnt tongue words? I’m so impressed.

27 05 2008
ginacoggio

🙂 Ha!
Actually, yeah.

27 05 2008
Domino

eh at least you know shes honest. Were you eating ramen??

27 05 2008
ginacoggio

Not even ramen. Some Brazilian vegetable soup thing that was waaay too much. I don’t know what I was thinking making as much as I did. But I just dumped the whole bag in. It served like, 4 or 6 people. But alas, I am only one and therefore, I will have leftovers for a month.

27 05 2008
Jen

I love your (inner) dialogues. Sorry to hear about the burnt tongue!

28 05 2008
Susan

I love self. Oh well..Talking to Dennis should be worth all the sticky pasta soup noodles in the world

29 05 2008
ginacoggio

Oh, it is!!

11 06 2008
ladybughugs

Your me/self conversations are hilarious.

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