More of the Truth

This is something I don't like people to know. I have picked up a habit that perhaps comes from the poverty of my early twenties or possibly from growing up in a cash-conscious home. Whatever the progeny, its manifest has been the propensity to consider eating food that is spoiled and should be thrown away. I do this all the time. I hate to waste, but I always cook too much. or I bring home leftovers and then kick myself for letting them spoil before eating them. I remember when my parents' house burned down, things were quite tumultuous, but just before the fire, we had gone out for a birthday dinner for me and I had brought home most of a gigantic piece of prime rib. But with all the running around and tending to things the post-fire time required, I hadn't gotten to eating it. And when I opened the styrofoam container and found the pink, spotty, slimy evidence of spoilage, I distinctly recall thinking, "Well, maybe this part over here is still good." It's really horrible. I'm terribly ashamed of it. To my credit, I seldom actually eat the rotten stuff. I just feel bad about throwing it away. And on the occasions when I've given spoiled food a try but found that it was vile and garbagey-tasting, I have promptly spat it out. I promise. I never serve old food to my guests. This is a standard of mine. But nothing seems to be too old or too dried up or too withered for me to consider making a sandwich out of it. Even if that sandwich occurs between bread slices that have had to have their moldy bits excised with careful fingers. I won't blame you for finally deciding I'm a freakshow and not to be trusted. But this is the nature of confession. Perhaps some out there will find my honesty endearing.