The plan was that I would make a big-ass pot of chicken soup on Sunday night, meant to last the rest of the week. Sunday came; I was busy; no soup was made.
So last night I get home around 8:30. I resolved that soup would be made. It took around two hours and wasn’t really very fun. So the soup ate my entire Monday. And I couldn’t eat any of it because I already ate dinner.
Now it is Tuesday. And all I can think about is going home and having a bowl of soup. It is a persistent, distracting thought that I haven’t been able to shake. The soup has eaten up my Tuesday as well.
Hopefully all of my food safety precautions were enough to avoid having the soup eat my Wednesday as well. I suppose we’ll see, but at this point I do not trust this soup.