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.




10 responses

26 05 2008

I yuss yuve Self – she’s so honess…

26 05 2008

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

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

27 05 2008

🙂 Ha!
Actually, yeah.

27 05 2008

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

27 05 2008

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

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

28 05 2008

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

29 05 2008

Oh, it is!!

11 06 2008

Your me/self conversations are hilarious.

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