Eating Cold Leftovers is My Favorite

The night started like any other.  After playing some rousing duets of Christmas songs on piano and guitar, Sean and I sat on the couch shopping for a couch.  Resigned to the fact that we may be on an eternal quest for the mythical perfect couch, we took turns psyching each other up as we made the purchase, which then led to each of us looking up coupon codes on our individual devices.  After tumbling for far too long down that weird rabbit hole we sealed the deal, and put $25 in our mutual pocket.  Approaching the far side of 10:00, the night progressed, as did the rumbling of our stomachs, but before we could formulate a plan of some kind, confused crying from the other room distracted us and I eagerly exclaimed and insisted that "I will go!"  As I laid next to the hapless Julian, woebegone because of some promised then forgotten and mourned for lollipop, we talked and sang until I told him of stories of his early life. His huge eyes on his tiny body. How I knew he was a boy before I saw the picture. Julian surmised he would hate to see a picture of himself in my belly because it would look really scary. I concurred, and said i might have a good one somewhere but they're mostly pretty weird and creepy.  Finally, after a long and meaningful lecture to his protector, his pet zebra, exhorting him to watch over Julian in the night, I exited.   My food meeting with Sean reconvened and I said, 

"Did you get some food?" 

 Seeing as he did not, for he was laying on the couch in a very UN-getting food like way, I said, 

"Sean! did you not understand that was the deal? Did i not say that out loud?" He responded, 

"Now i understand the reason for your eagerness to console."   Taking matters into our individual hands, we opened the fridge and cupboards.  I finally decided on digging into some leftovers,  Sean pleaded with me:  

"Please tell me you'll heat it up! Tell me you'll heat--"  

I maniacally interjected,  "NO! COLD.  Eating cold leftovers is my favorite!" 

Gleeful and with abandon, i fetched a fork and dug into the tupperware container full of cold enchiladas. Defeated, Sean made arrangements for his routine night ice cream.  I saw him getting ready to make fudge sauce when I mentioned I thought we had some in the fridge. He got it out, took off the lid and put it in the microwave.  Knowing he was averse to checking expiration dates, I took a glance and said, 

"this expired in July..."   

Over the din of the microwave, Sean said, "What? i can't hear you! Sorry!"  

 And i said, "Nothing. I said nothing."  

And the crickets chirped louder than they ever have before and the spirit of harmony befell the room.