I have been blessed with three roommates who despise leftovers. I couldn't have planned my housing situation better in this way. It's a glorious to be the self-proclaimed day-after queen.
A little bit of reverse psychology and crazy mind tricks also help them forget about their leftover treats. Now I just need to convert them to Stomp the Yard"" enthusiasts to complete the brainwashing.
But more enduring than my love for ""Stomp the Yard"" is my love for leftovers. I love scanning the kitchen on a Sunday morning and squealing with glee upon finding cold pizza left on the counter. I may approach the stale, dried mess apprehensively, but it always tastes excellent, even when you think it's going to be absolutely disgusting. That is the true breakfast of champions, regardless of whatever Wheaties claims.
It's easy to lay out the points supporting leftovers. They're already purchased, cooked and half enjoyed. All you need to do is finish them and lick the Tupperware clean.
Acquiring leftovers is a science at Madison. I have learned in my short time as a college student living below the poverty line how to coax parents, family, friends and basically anyone with a steady income to buy me dinner. I merely ask them out to dinner, and they pay the bill. It's really that simple. The dialogue usually goes like this:
""Oh, Great Aunt Edna, I never get to talk to you anymore. We should grab dinner and catch up on things.""
""You put ketchup on your onion rings? Who doesn't?""
""No Edna. CATCH UP ON THINGS.""
""Oh, why of course. I'll buy you a juicy expensive steak with my Social Security check.""
And it's a done deal. All you need to do is load up on salad and the endless basket of breadsticks, even if the waitress gives you the evil eye after asking for the sixth refill on free carbs. You just pack up the $25 steak in a handy doggy bag and go merrily on your way. If planned correctly, servings of such leftovers can provide meals for an entire week. Isn't that glorious?
However, love for leftovers is a scary commitment. You have to be careful, or they may cause you to pray to the porcelain God if not handled correctly. This ugly side of leftovers turns the relationship into more of a game between man and mold. I give myself one victory point every time I defy the laws of time and take away three points when time works against me.
I think it is similar to keeping track of your gains and losses at a casino, except leftovers aren't overseen by the state government or illegal to anyone under a certain age. Gambling with leftovers is like underage training for gambling with money.
Other personality characteristics play into the leftover sport. I personally have problems throwing things away. For example, I still own hideous props and hand-decorated sweaters from countless parties and Halloweens. You never know when you're going to need a headband covered in peacock feathers, right?
The same can be said for food. A quart of red, African-style sauce with chicken might just come in handy in the next two, three or four weeks. It might have lasted five if I hadn't left it out of the refrigerator for 36 hours. Actually, I'm pretty sure that quart is still hiding in the fridge. Well, I guess I know what I'm having for dinner.
If you have any moldy leftovers you are about to throw out, e-mail Emily at bisek@wisc.edu.
