Pasta, the only time it’s okay to eat elbows (Food Series)

Image credit: pixabay & wordswag app

I hate diets.  Although to be fair, I don’t know anyone who loves them.  Because of my slowing metabolism (boo, adult life!), a sedentary lifestyle (hey, it’s dangerous to write and walk!), and a widening waistline, I’m going on one.

But, to make myself feel better, I’ve created this series – the food series – to wax poetic about my favorite foods or tell you stories about them.

Today’s post: glorious pasta.

Mmmm.  I already ate and that picture kind of makes me drool.  Oh pasta, you’re never just a side dish to me.

That’s enough waxing poetic, now for a story:

When I was going through my divorce, I rented a new apartment and the day I left my ex, I left a lot of my stuff at the old place as well.  So, when I moved into my new place, my family helped me get my things from the old place and into the new.  But, since we only had a few hours, again – a lot of stuff was left behind.  I went again with my dad a few weeks later to pick up a few more things.

While we were there, I grabbed a hodgepodge of stuff – a lamp, a step-stool (yes, I’m short)…honestly, I still wasn’t sure what else to take as splitting up joint assets is a difficult thing.

My dad and I walked through the condo to the kitchen where we went through some of my previous belongings – should I take the cookie jar?  No, he had always liked that jar.  Should I take the glass baking dishes I bought in college?  Yes.  Should I take half the pots we got when we got married?  I guess…

Anyway, I remember turning around, not really sure what to do and my dad suddenly asking me if I wanted the giant box of pasta I’d bought at Costco a few weeks before I left my ex.  I think our conversation went something like this:

“The pasta?”

I artfully raised an eyebrow. (Yes, I can in fact do this…probably because I spent a lot of time practicing when I was a teenager.) “Isn’t that…I don’t know, kind of silly?”

“You’re starting over in a brand new place and letting him live here with all of the things you bought together.”

“But Dad, what will people say?  What’s next, the ice cubes?” (Back then, I still cared what people said about my divorce.)

“This is something small.  You’ve been nice enough.  You’ve had to buy cups, plates, furniture, a TV, food…it’s costing you a lot to set up a whole new place.”  My dad took the box of pasta and tucked it under his arm.  “Think of this,” he said. “It’s one thing that you won’t have to buy.”

I looked at the box under his arm.  It held at least 15 boxes of assorted pasta that I loved to cook – elbow, linguine, spaghetti.  He was right, it was a fair amount of food and with setting up an entire place on my own and paying for a lawyer, my bank account was frighteningly slim.

“Okay,” I said and the slight ridiculousness of walking out with a giant box of pasta made me smile, even in that difficult time.

And then we left and I never went back.

In the end, there were quite a few things I never got back from my ex, but I’ve been able to replace most of it myself over the last year and a half.  I’m actually still working my way through that giant box of pasta and I still don’t know why my dad was so adamant about the pasta.  It was the point of it, I think, after all my ex had taken enough from me.

Either that or it’s because we’re part Italian, you know…and we’re very serious about our pasta. 😉


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