We've all been there. You say you like something someone does or makes, but you actually don't. You just don't want to break their heart into little pieces with honesty. So you tell a white lie, and then it snowballs and snowballs until in my case, your stomach lining has dissolved into sludge. Let me elaborate.
My roommate decided to cook tonight, which is a rare thing to occur in the house. And he was drunk. As I'm coming downstairs to refresh my glass of green tea, I smell something... interesting. "What are you making?" I ask. "I don't really know" he says. "Well, what did you put in the pot you got going over there?" I take a peak under the lid and god help me if it was the entire US of A because that was soooomee melting pot. I saw chunks of meat, vegetables, and beans.
"Well yea, I got this canned sloppy joe mix. Put in a can of tomato paste. Added a little celery seed and cinnamon and sugar. Saw some vegetables and rice in the fridge so thought I'd throw some of those things in. Then I thought, hey why not a few strawberries too?" Those vegetables he was referring to were nearly 3 weeks old. The rice had been sweltering in the Gladware for longer. I wanted to say something, but I was like whatever, if he eats it at least all the alcohol in his stomach would kill the microbial cesspool that was his meal. "Yummmmm that sounds delicious!." I said with a minor hint of sarcasm. "You're down on having some of this too?," his face lights up. "Yea sure," I say hesitant. I didn't want to anger the drunken beast in my kitchen.
I book it to my room. I did not get around to turning off my lights to fool him into thinking I was asleep before I heard the knock on my door. "Meera meera! I have something for you." He presented his alphabet soup to me on a platter. I was like "Great! Thanks!" I wait for him to leave so I could throw it out in my toilet, but he just stands there beaming with joy. Damn. I pick at it for a few seconds. Then I repeat a "Down the hatch" mantra over and over again and until I take a deep breath, scoop up a chunk of strawberries, canned meat, and month old rice in a spoon and shove it inside my mouth.
"How is it?" he asks with a huge grin on his face.
"Great, just great." LIES!
"It's almost like a sweet compote with meat on it."
"Yea totally." LIES! "I can't believe you came up with something so delicious!" LIES!
"But it's not jelly like. More watery."
"Yea totally, it's like a spicy meat soup with a touch of sweetness." LIES! LIES! LIES!
"Well, theres a huge pot of it downstairs so you can have at it whenever you want."
"Thanks, I'll totally come down in a second."
I proceeded to spit out what I can only characterize it as an English triffle with a sloppy joe filling. I'm worried about what tomorrow is going to bring in the plumbing department.
This whole situation is like the age-old lesson where parents wash their kids' mouths out with soap after they have said some inappropriate words. Looking back on this fateful night, I would say that my initial white lies were in fact, inappropriate, and the lesson was learned with a meaty strawberry lining.
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