I have a love/hate relationship with mayo. It’s not something I normally need, because the most common application around these parts is on sandwiches and we all know how I feel about those. I don’t think mayo is a vital condiment like ketchup or salsa; it’s more of a “nice to have” just in case. Mayo is tricky to keep around, though – it comes out so infrequently that I always find it’s expired when I use it next. This leads to the overkill affect when grocery shopping; buying the same item over and over again because you can’t remember if you bought it last time. This is why I currently have 7 cans of green chiles in my cupboard – we only use them when we have Costco enchiladas, and we haven’t had them in over a year. Same for creamed corn, although that gets used more frequently. And it’s just better if you don’t ask about the taco seasoning, okay? Just .. don’t.
Mayo continually escapes my grasp, though. I don’t WANT 5 jars of mayo in my food closet, so each time I buy food I think “do we really need this? probably not.” and put it back. Last time we did groceries, though, I specifically remember saying we needed mayo and made a play for the aisle. Ed stopped me, saying “nah, we totally have mayo at home! trust me!” and so I DID, since he makes sandwiches all the time and would likely know if our mayo was still good or not. I put the jar back and went on my merry way, grabbing a bottle of jerk sauce just in case we were out (we weren’t; there are three full bottles in the house and I bought another one tonight). This was barely three weeks ago; I figured any mayo we had that was still good then would likely be fine now so I again did not buy any.
I’m tired. I’m cranky. Ed is out at a fancy dinner eating foie gras and pate and pork bellies and other disgusting things that people consider gourmet instead of gross, and all I want is a simple tuna sandwich with a side of ruffled potato chips, like my dad used to make me. It’s comfort food through and through, and I eat it even though it makes me sad (it was the last meal I shared with Sasha and every time I make a tuna sandwich I expect her to come running for her share). I’ve had a really rough couple of weeks, and while it’s not lobster served on a bed of hundred dollar bills, it’s all I want right now. A tuna sandwich, a handful of potato chips, and a hug (and a pug and a MMF 3-way, but I’ll take what I can get right now).
Yeah, the mayo that Ed swore was good and fine? Expired in NOVEMBER.
I’m going to eat it anyway. My bra is off, and I’m not putting it back on for ANYTHING. Therefore, this is a will of sorts – if this expired mayonnaise kills me, I, Kimli of the Internet, declare that a) Ed killed me, b) you can find pictures of his wang in secret location that will auto-post itself if I go without blogging for 72 hours, c) Sasha and I would like our ashes spread somewhere awesome, and d) don’t touch my stuff.
That is all.
Anyone have a hazmat suit I can borrow?