OK, not to be whiny, but noroviruses are NOT fun. Ohhhh, no. Take it from me, who spent the past 2 days in bed. My muscles are still sore from…well, I'll spare the graphic details. I'm beginning to feel normal, slowly.
Must tell this on myself. Insanely stupid story. J brought some lovely soup. T only let them come as far as the front door, as I was plague-ridden. I heard from the top of the stairs that she also brought pasta to stir in, as well as some Bombay mix that was actually from Bombay that she didn't care for. Ah how nice, a snack for T, thinks I.
That evening, I go down to warm up the soup for dinner, as T still isn't allowed to lift our Calphalon (not for another 4 weeks anyhow). Poured the soup into the Dutch oven. Huh, that's a lot of very odd looking pasta, I thought, picking up with square plastic container. Shrugged, dumped it in. Stirred it up. Smelled good. Stirred it some more, it started bubbling nicely. Then I noticed, on the right hand of the countertop (which is a mess, since neither of us have felt like cleaning up), a small baggie of little pasta.
I'd just stirred the Bombay mix into the soup.
I told T. I've never seen him that speechless before. He literally did a double-take. His mouth moved. No sound emanated. “All of it?” he asked.
I confess, I cried. And laughed at the same time. (Is that called hysteria?) It was such a stupid thing to do, but I was feeling so worn down and overwhelmed by it all.
I'm better now.
But T loved the soup. I ate a lot of it too and it was very good. I think I invented Bombay chicken soup or something.