My 2 year-old Alexandra eats Kraft Macaroni and Cheese every single day of her life. Even if I offer her something else (like peanut butter cups and vodka) she’ll still drag herself across the floor and cry until I produce a plate of macaroni and cheese. She’s like a drunk college kid at 3Am.
As much as I hate to discourage her budding appreciation for one of life’s most exquisite dishes, someone’s gotta control this unhealthy obsession. And since I’m her mother, I suppose that someone is me, which is what inspired this conversation I had with my husband, Tom, this morning.
(If the words are in “A L L C A P S,” it means I’m spelling it so Alex doesn’t catch on).
ME: I think we need to nix the M A C N C H E E S E for awhile.
TOM: (confused stare)
ME: We need to stop letting her eat M A C A N D C H E E S E for a while. It’s too much.
TOM: (Still nothing)
ME: M A C… K ? Does that help?
By a show of virtual hands, who besides my husband spells the abbreviated version of macaroni and cheese with a “K?” Does he think it’s a person–like Mack the Knife? Like there’s some dude running around named Mack N. Cheese who’s made of elbow macaroni and powdered cheese food and spends his life hiding from hungry toddlers and drunk college kids?
Actually, Mack N. Cheese sounds like a pretty awesome guy. But when you invite him over for dinner and he asks, “What can I bring?” do you say, “Dessert” or do you say, “Just bring yourself?” And then do you make something that goes with mac ‘n cheese? Like ribs? Or is it presumptuous to assume that he’ll just offer himself up for dinner?
What a confusing friendship. Well, at least I know that if we send him a Christmas card Tom will spell his name right on the envelope. I think it’s the least we can do after my daughter ate his face for dinner.
Wow. I really need to invest in a night nanny. I think I need sleep.
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