The Devil on my Shoulder is Salt

[notodette]

I'm a novice cook, at best. One of my hardest battles is the freaking salt, I kid you not. No matter how much salt I *think* I put into the meal, it's not enough. It's barely enough for me, but certainly not enough for my husband, who likes his meals ~*seasoned*~ perfectly, kwim?

So, after about four days of salt fail where I watch with steam NOT coming out of my ears (lol) as he pours sea salt on my meal, he happens by the kitchen as I'm cooking.

"Don't forget the salt," he says.

And that's when it happens. The salt devil.

I've got the thyme in one hand, the paprika in another, I'm staring the rosemary in the face, and still, I cannot resist.

The salt devil calls me.

"Salt that shit," it whispers. "Salt the FUCK out of that shit." It grows to a yell. "SALT SALT SALT SALT SALTSALTSALTSALT ITTTTTTTTTTTTTT!"

And I put the other spices down and salt that shit.

I don't even know why. I know we'll all suffer, including me, but in my delirious state I hang onto the hope that THIS will be...finally...the correct amount of salt.

And the salt devil is strong. So strong.

So strong that even now, after forcing everyone to eat that pile of salt I called "paella", I'm still blaming the chicken broth instead.

...

DAMN YOU, SALT. DAMN YOU TO HELL.