Yesterday, my darling stepson decided it was time for sustenance. Now, when I say “sustenance,” I mean the holy grail of childhood cuisine: cereal or mac and cheese. Because, you know, when you’re truly famished, your options are obviously limited to these two culinary masterpieces.
Apparently, being hungry and picky are mutually exclusive. Who knew?
Alas, the powdered ambrosia known as mac and cheese was not readily available. But wait! There was pasta. Plain, ordinary, versatile pasta. However, due to my unfortunate lack of sight, I inquired as to the contents of the box.
Now, instead of a simple answer, I was met with the enlightening response of “It’s not mac and cheese.” Yes, child, I gathered that much. But what is it? The mystery deepened as this unhelpful nugget of information was repeated ad nauseam.
Frustration mounting, I directed the starving urchin to the cereal and promptly returned the defrosting meat to its chilly abode. Enter the maternal figure, displeased with my apparent lack of patience. Apparently, I was the one getting upset.
Resigned, I resorted to deciphering the pasta box label myself using Seeing AI on my iPhone. Lo and behold, it was indeed pasta. Newsflash: macaroni is a type of pasta. But no, we needed the neon orange powder. And making a sauce? Perish the thought.
So, I did what any rational person would do: I shut up and went to bed. Because clearly, my opinions and feelings are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Peace at any cost, right?