The mold lies upon the remnants of the long forgotten leftovers like a soft gray blanket. As it is often wont to do, my mind flits to strange associations – is the blanket comforting the abandoned salad against its loss of purpose? – or against the cold of the refrigerator? – should I get my phone to take an abstract photo? – but as I close the styrofoam lid on yet another missed opportunity to make full use of a meal, it settles on a nagging thought. When did I become so wasteful? My parents grew up during the Great Depression. They never wasted food. When they brought “doggie bags” home from restaurants, we, the pups, ate what was in them. When Mom cooked a roast, we consumed it all across several nights.
I blame it on restaurants that serve such gargantuan portions. Supersize that? Supersize me! I distract myself with a half-formed pun about being wasteful to avoid being waist-ful, but the styrofoam nags at me too. It will remain long after the food has decomposed.
I zip my thoughts about the roots of the problem away, closing them off as I close the refrigerator door, grab my keys and head out to find something to eat.
Copyright © Thomas Ward 2017