Tonight I made french onion soup. All week I have been telling Anth about this beautiful meal I would be creating. He went along with this idea. Mostly due to the fact that any meal I produce is appreciated. I have let everything go. Personal hygiene, cooking, cleaning, etc., everything that I was semi responsible with has been tossed away. I would like to mention that I did remember to put deodorant on this morning. That's still important to me.
I feel different. It is hard to explain. I feel as if I am too far gone to repair mistakes I have made. What mistakes? I haven't really done anything wrong. Yes, the house is disgusting, but it has been disgusting before. I just feel as if life is passing to quickly and I am not taking the moment to be grateful for the little things. I am butthurt about Halloween. I didn't even take the time to fully decorate the house to my liking. I am saddened about Thanksgiving because I didn't craft anything turkey related, nor did I pass out homemade heartfelt gratitude cards to those I love. I am already mourning Christmas because I feel nothing. Where is that Christmas spirit?
It's just an odd feeling. I want to soak everything in. I want to have more time in the day. I'm not use to this. I am usually so bored. Not any more! I could bawl just thinking about all the unread books downstairs screaming for me to crack their spines. Sigh. I could use a beach break.
That was a serious tangent. Back to the soup.
After work today I busted out the cutting board and onions. I have never really enjoyed french onion soup. I don't think I ever hated it, but I d0n't think I ever liked it. I just thought that I could make it magical, you know, the Lindsey touch would help....er something.
After 10 minutes both me and Anth were wiping the tears away and I had to eventually wash my face due to the excessive amounts of cheap makeup dripping down my checks. I looked hot, just keep that in mind. After sauteing the onions in a pot for awhile I then added the broth, and other ingredients. It looked and smelled nasty. "It's going to be great, just you wait."
I put a ladle or two in the soup bowls and added some swiss cheese and some hard bread on top. I carried the bowls to........the couch (told you we are a mess right now) with a proud smile on my face. Anthony slurped it up and gagged a couple of times on the excessive cheese. I ate half and started to feel that awesome throw up sensation deep in my throat.
I then looked at Anthony. He was in a bad place. I could picture him picking up some luggage and clean undies and heading out the door. I started writing an apology letter in my head. It went something like this:
This letter is an apology. I had many dreams for us. Dreams that included seeing you progress in your firm. Dreams that included a small home with a real mailbox and small children with freakishly thick hair running around harassing the dog we would eventually own. You were good to me. I was good to you. Then the soup happened and it was all thrown away. I saw your face when you were trying to muscle the cheese out of your throat to prevent vomiting on our couch that we bought together just a couple months after we became one. I knew in that moment that things would never be the same. It was nasty. You knew it. I knew it. Why? Why would I make such a soup? Well, dearest husband that left me. I made it to convince you that yes, I still cooked. You would think I would make something fancy. Ratatouille, meatballs, puff pastries, anything but sweaty stinking feet soup would have sufficed.
Some people leave their spouses due to infidelity, financial stress, sheer boredom. You left me due to French Onion Soup. I don't blame you. I would have done the same thing. Again, Anthony I apologize. If you give me a second chance, tomorrow I will make a frozen pizza. Once the smell of onions and feet waft out the door and the marinara and crusty bread lulls you back into our home, you will thank me once again.
This is how my night ended. I begged Anthony to clear the....coffee table and remove all evidence of the soup. I heard the disposal run for a good minute as he poured the pot of soup down the sink. He smiled at me and we giggled as we went upstairs away from the fumes. I am feeling much better after eating half a sleeve of cookies to rid my mouth of onion flavoring.
In conclusion, if anyone ever asks me if I like French Onion Soup, my response most definitely will be, NO!