There he is in the back right corner, staring back at me. Frozen in time. A pale, unassuming piece of plastic Tupperware. You see him, yet? He still gives me goosebumps every time I catch a glimpse of him as the freezer empties. I see him as I go in for the Oreo ice cream and do a double-take. He needs me to spiffy him up a bit with a little crumb-dusting on his rectangular lips.
He is my husband Todd’s legendary horseradish mashed potatoes – made for me the day “I knew” he was the one. You see, before Todd, I didn’t date men for very long. Three months was a good stretch. I was too busy with my career, my ambitions. Todd knew he was rolling the dice with me, having peppered me with intimate questions on our first date like, “What was your longest relationship?” Ouch. How do I spin this one so I don’t look bad? It hurt to tell the truth. He didn’t want to waste his time on me if I wasn’t ready for a long-term commitment. Smart guy.