On Thursday I had what I thought were going to be a couple of hot projects I had to rush home for. You know, the kind where someone calls today and wants it tomorrow. So I shagged out of my on-site gig right at noon and rushed home. I knew I’d have to grab a bite of lunch and I had just the thing waiting in the refrigerator: leftover pasta fresca from Noodles & Co.

With my hand on the refrigerator handle, my life concerning leftovers suddenly flashed before my eyes. My husband is notorious for grabbing whatever helpless item is in there and gobbling it down. I’ve rooted around for the rest of my burrito or the night before’s dinner and come up empty. On many occasions. If it’s not nailed down, he’ll eat it.

I felt a sudden surge of fear because I was totally craving that pasta. I’d been plotting my lunch all morning, proud of myself for forsaking another run at take-out on the drive home and saving money.

So I said, out loud, “If he ate my pasta, I’m going to kick his ass.” (And now all you readers of my recent post will realize that not all of my talking to myself is of the cheerful sort.)

I scanned the shelves and, miraculously, there it was! Hooray!

And then I discovered something even more miraculous. Inside another container in close proximity resided chicken apple sausage and green peppers that he must have cooked up the night before when I was out. Can you say “perfect pasta topper”???

“Oh, yay! Now I don’t want to kick his ass, I want to kiss him.”

(No, I’m not making that up. I really did say those things out loud.)