Let the squash sit around until it starts to mold.
Look at it and hurmph a bit, and then put it back in the basket in the kitchen.
Realize that although you just went to the grocery store, you have nothing to eat for dinner.
Pick it back up and get out a knife.
Screw the cutting board, it’s no big deal.
Split the squash lengthwise, gouging a hole in counter top and/or hand, ladies choice.
Start cutting away at the moldy bits.
Give up after three or four and figure you’ll just work around them when the thing is cooked.
Dig around in the cabinets looking for an appropriate dish to cook it in.
There is no appropriate dish; make do with what you have.
Lay the cut side down in the awkward dish, one half kinda resting on the other, and throw in a little water; cover with cling wrap.
Wonder how long you’re supposed to cook it.
Shove it in the microwave and guess at five minutes.
Nope.
Five more minutes.
Not quite.
Five more minutes.
WHOA THERE, that’ll do.
Notice that when you cook it a little too long it will implode and then form a cling wrap shrink wrap. Nice.
Remove from the microwave – with hot pads – and set on counter top.
Carefully unwrap.
I said CAREFULLY, dammit.
Try to turn over squash.
Burn your belly when it splashes.
Curse loudly and in front of the kids.
Wait, where’s the kid that can actually talk?
Search for toddler.
Find toddler staring at daddy in the shower, trying to figure out what the dangly bits are and why daddy has them.
Shoo her back upstairs and retackle the steaming squash.
Ouch, hot!
Dammit!
Finally scrape the shells clean, mostly avoiding the moldy bits.
Mostly.
Pour some pasta sauce over the top and present to family.
Watch with a smile while the husband eats it all up and growl with annoyance when your toddler eats three bites with gusto and then demands cereal, claiming she doesn’t like it.
Try, very very hard, not to say, “I cooked this for you, dammit. EAT IT!”
Accept your role as domestic goddess and eat your meal.
HEY, it’s actually quite good!
