Evening Discourse

It is evening.

 

 

 

It is December.

 

 

 

It is dark.

 

 

 

It is cold.

 

 

 

 

It is a cold, dark evening in mid-December and I am in my garage.
This is where I live, at least for the next 30 days. After that, well, then I move into a regular house.

 

 

 

With a wife.

 

 

My wife.

 

 

That’s the plan, anyway, the Lord willing. I have been working in the house this evening and now I am back in my garage, scrounging for something to eat.

 

 

I poke around in the refrigerator and find some mashed potatoes.

 

I decide to eat them.

 

But first I have to find a spoon.

 

I poke around and find a spoon. Well that’s good enough, I decide.

 

I will climb into my cold sleeping
bag in my cold garage and eat cold mashed potatoes.

 

I take a second look at the mashed potatoes. Man, it would be nice to have warm mashed potatoes.

 

They are good, I know that. I had them, warm, a couple days past, at the home of my fiancee’s parents.

 

They were, in fact, made by my beautiful and lovely fiancee.

 

 

 

Well, I decide, why not heat them up. It is late already, and it won’t be too much later if I actually heat them up first.

 

But now the problem is compounded, because I need something to heat the potatoes in. One doesn’t heat mashed potatoes in a plastic container in a toaster oven.

 

At least, I don’t. I am smart. I am that way because once, two years past, I actually tried heating mashed potatoes in a toaster oven.

 

Come to think of it, I believe it was actually mashed turnips. But anyway, I heated them in the toaster oven.

 

As a result, not only were the potatoes uneatable, but the plastic container was unusable. As for the toaster oven, well….have you ever smelled hot melted plastic?

 

I almost choked on the fumes. Come to think of it, I did choke on the fumes, and was only rescued by my Chihuahua, who pulled me by the collar of
my shirt out of the shed I was living in at the time, where I coughed and regained consciousness.

 

Anyway, I look around for something not plastic.

 

 

I find a bowl.

 

 

It is not a clean bowl.

 

 

It has not been clean for some time.

 

 

I think at one point it had cereal with milk in it.

 

 

After that some orange peels got piled on top of the leftovers of that.

 

 

After that, something else got piled up on top of that, who knows what because now it is all covered in a lovely green-and-white arrangement.

 

 

 

It also smells.

 

 

Like mold.

 

 

Probably because that’s what it is.

 

 

I look at it.

 

 

I wrinkle my nose.

 

 

I walk over to the sink and take another spoon and start scraping it out, under running water.

 

You know,it is so nice to have running water. My mind wanders back to the time when I lived without running
water, but that is another story.

 

 

I look down at the bowl.

 

 

I wonder if it should be completely clean, or if a few mold spots here and
there would hurt. After all, it’s all going to get heated in the toaster oven.

 

 

Besides, isn’t all green-and-white mold basically penicillin? It would probably only benefit me.

 

 

I pause momentarily, my thoughts drifting 91 miles north to where my beautiful and lovely fiancee probably has no idea that I am about to eat out of a mold-infested bowl.

 

 

 

I wonder if she knows what she is getting into?

 

 

 

Does she know that she is marrying a bachelor?

 

 

 

Does she know that this bachelor has performed numerous scientific experiments over the years, usually in jars or bowls or plates, and generally pertaining to mold, fungus, mildew, rot, or penicillin-based products?

 

 

 

Does she know that he eats whatever he can get his hands on, even if it is not kosher, certified fair-trade, or organic and locally raised?

 

 

 

I ponder these questions and facts as I clean out the inside of the bowl carefully and rinse it out in hot water before visually scanning.

 

Looks clean to me.

 

 

Good enough for a bachelor, anyway.
Thankfully I will only be a bachelor for 30 more days.

 

 

 

30 days.

 

 

 

Do you know what that means?

 

 

Do you?

 

 

 

I know what it means.

 

 

 

It means that in 30 days my life will change.

 

 

Drastically.

 

 

 

It means that I will have to start living like a (semi) normal human being.

 

 

No more mold experiments.

 

 

No more eating cold mashed potatoes or ice cream for supper.

 

 

No more leaving clothes wherever they end up.

 

 

No more going and doing exactly what I please, whenever I please to do it.

 

 

No more bachelor pad.

 

 

No more loneliness! That will be nice, I nod my head thoughtfully as I transfer potatoes.

 

 

I am ready to be married.

 

 

Especially since it is to the most wonderful girl in the world.

 

 

 

Thank you God!!! For this gift, in 30 days. One that I do not deserve. One who loves me.

 

 

And one who I love too, very much.

 

 

 

I slip the mashed potatoes in the bowl into the toaster oven and turn it on.

6 thoughts on “Evening Discourse

  1. I’m sure you are looking forward to the next 30 days! I’m looking forward to those same 30 days! 🙂 the Lord willing I will be there and help you celebrate! hurrah!
    blessings to you! as you look to that day!

  2. Dear Timothy, You are so talented! I am laughing so hard that I am crying! It is all so true! We are happy for you! What a lot of work you will get done in the next 29 days!!! Love, gma

  3. Hahaha! Don’t worry my Love, I know what I’m getting into! And I can hardly wait!!! Only 26 more days now!!

  4. This is the sweetest post! ALSO- When did you change your blog name?

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