I hate closing at work.
Actually, I don't hate closing. I just hate getting home so late. Because then, I always have to cook if I want dinner. After nine at night. Ugh.
Here's the thing. If I get home before my mom and her boyfriend, I make dinner, and I make dinner that everyone can eat, and I make enough for everyone, plus leftovers. When they get home before me, my mom cooks just enough for the two of them, and always, always, always, makes things that I don't eat. Like steak. Or fish. And if you don't know this about me, I don't eat a lot of meat. And when I don't get off work until nine, I'm starving. I don't want to have to cook after having been on my feet the entire night.
Tonight was, clearly, one of those nights. And I'm so frustrated. I even baked banana muffins for them to have for breakfast tomorrow before I left for work this afternoon. I just don't understand. And every time I ask, okay, why didn't you make anything that I can eat, her response is simply that there are leftovers. You know what leftovers are in my fridge right now? A single piece of chicken that I made (originally with more) in the crockpot a few days ago. The same chicken that I've eaten the last few days because I made it. I don't particularly want the exact same thing again. Especially since I made enough for everyone, and no one else has eaten it! And when I try to explain, I am suddenly the unreasonable one.
I don't understand.
I'm just frustrated and I needed to vent. And now, I'm having cheez-its for dinner. It's my own kind of silent protest, I guess.
Here's the thing. If I get home before my mom and her boyfriend, I make dinner, and I make dinner that everyone can eat, and I make enough for everyone, plus leftovers. When they get home before me, my mom cooks just enough for the two of them, and always, always, always, makes things that I don't eat. Like steak. Or fish. And if you don't know this about me, I don't eat a lot of meat. And when I don't get off work until nine, I'm starving. I don't want to have to cook after having been on my feet the entire night.
Tonight was, clearly, one of those nights. And I'm so frustrated. I even baked banana muffins for them to have for breakfast tomorrow before I left for work this afternoon. I just don't understand. And every time I ask, okay, why didn't you make anything that I can eat, her response is simply that there are leftovers. You know what leftovers are in my fridge right now? A single piece of chicken that I made (originally with more) in the crockpot a few days ago. The same chicken that I've eaten the last few days because I made it. I don't particularly want the exact same thing again. Especially since I made enough for everyone, and no one else has eaten it! And when I try to explain, I am suddenly the unreasonable one.
I don't understand.
I'm just frustrated and I needed to vent. And now, I'm having cheez-its for dinner. It's my own kind of silent protest, I guess.