One intern is green the other intern is telling me I need to diet.

Since Queenie is away this week at a conference (“away” meaning she is in Minneapolis), I have a license to eat and possess food that she abhors. I have stocked my refrigerator with items that make her guts wretch and her nostrils flare in repugnance. Pickled beets in all their red-counter-staining-juicy-goodness and a nice piece of salmon have made me a nice meal or two. Yum. Salmon.

Note: In all fairness, there are a couple of items that I would prefer Queenie not having. For example, under no circumstances can a...dare I say it, dare I even imagine the repulsive stink – banana make a home on the counter. She can certainly purchase them and eat them but, the little yellow purveyors of stench are not allowed to reside any place that I may catch whiff of them. Oh and don’t even get me started on that sickening squishy slobbery noise made when you eat that devil fruit… shudder.

Anyway, along with the Queenie-detested food, the other change is smaller portion cooking mostly in the microwavable genre of cuisine. I purchased a couple of those new fancy pants, single serving vegetables with the light rosemary butter sauce and brought one to work today. It made a nice side to my leftover pasta.

I was busy heating my little pouch of veggies when one of the interns came into the break room. We chatted it up for 3 and one quarter minutes while my vegetable packet cooked.

She is about 10 years my junior and sweet and quiet. She was discussing her view on living ‘green’ and I was bobbing my head along with what she was saying as if I were interested. In reality, my thoughts were on rosemary butter sauce and if I should rent a movie tonight.

When the microwave beeped and I pulled out my miniature pouch of buttered lunch carefully as not to burn my fingertips, she said with some recognition, “That smells like rosemary.”

I said, “Yup, that is rosemary.”

“Are those individual serving pouches?” Pause. Nose wrinkle. The word individual said with extra emphasis.

“Yeah, I know not good for the environment.” Sigh. Fake concern.

”Ah, well just make sure you rinse it and recycle. I don’t mean to sound snotty, but I’m just used to thinking about things like that.”

“Yeah, ok.”

With her lecture over I resumed my lunch preparation rolling my eyes and shaking my head. As she exited our break room another intern came in. Also 10 years my junior. Also sweet and quiet.

Today was her last day with our company and as I inquired about what her future plans were, she too smelled the pungent rosemary wafting from my veggies.

”That smells really good,” she said. “I didn’t know they made individual servings like that. How convenient.”

Ready to defend my actions against the environment, I replied, “Yes, I think so too.”

“Since I live by myself now, I think I may try those. I hate cooking a lot of food just for me.”

“I know what you mean. I am used to eating for two, but now I am eating for one.”

“Wow, I didn’t know!” She said this with a certain congratulatory sound in her voice. I was not sure what she meant at this point.

After a couple of moments, I thought perhaps I should explain that I have a roommate and not a husband because I was sure that the “wow, I didn’t know” comment was just her reaction to the fact that her interpretation of my depressing single with one cat life was incorrect.

She must be thinking I am married. I mean, why would she be so startled at my suddenly making less food.

So I said, “My roommate is at a conference and I usually make enough for two, but this week I am making one portion meals. Just for me.”

“Oh.” She said nodding and looking in the direction of my belly.

This very unsubtle gaze at my midsection made me understand what was going on in her head.

As my cheeks flushed, I realized I said “eating” not “cooking”.