If someone asked me the question, that is seemingly always used as an icebreaker, "If you could eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would you eat?", I would answer without even pausing to ponder with "pasta". If they pushed me to choose a specific pasta I have a whole list that comes to mind. First, I would choose the Pesto Cavatappi from Noodles & Company, then, I would choose the meatballs with spaghetti noodles from Gustavus' cafeteria (shocking, I know), and finally if neither of those would be an option I would settle for my mom's goulash (does goulash count as pasta? I've never know how to classify it, besides as a "hot-dish" eh).
I'm sure it is clear now, that pasta is the true love of my life. Never will I give up carbs. Give me pasta or give me death. And, until recently, I had to trek across campus to our caf (cafeteria, in college terms) to get to my love. And when it was not meatball day I was usually left underwhelmed; the pasta was good, but not Pesto Cavatappi, Mom's hotdish good. But it was better than nothing. Better than heartbreak.
But I would do anything to meet my pasta quota for the day. So, on some days, pasta was my only reason for leaving my dorm room and entering the world of the living. Recently, though, my mom gifted me a reason to never have to leave my dorm again (besides class, obviously, Mom). She gave me a Pasta Boat (As Seen On TV).
To be honest, I've wanted a Pasta Boat since I read about them on a BuzzFeed list titled "21 Kitchen Essentials Every College Student Needs". But, because I am poor, lazy, and don't like leaving the bubble that is Gustavus I had yet to acquire one. That is until I was graciously given the one my mother got during her work party's White Elephant gift exchange. To me, the Pasta Boat certainly did not belong in a White Elephant gift exchange. It belonged under the Christmas tree as my "big present" for the year. Who needs a FitBit when you can have a Pasta Boat? Not this girl.
The first thing I did after I got my Pasta Boat was get in my car and drive to the holy land: Target. I was on a serious mission to acquire house brand pasta and pasta sauce. Name brand is too boujee (and expensive) for me. After acquiring the pasta and pasta sauce (and window clings from the dollar section, a new mascara from the clearance bin in the makeup section, and new pens because pens are my second true love in life) I jumped in my car, exuberant to try out my new toy. I was more excited to use my Pasta Boat that day than when I opened the Giant Littlest Pet Shop when I was 9 on Christmas Morning (shoutout to Santa). But my mom wasn't home and the directions confused me so I decided to wait and experiment with the Pasta Boat until I was back at college: the land of mistakes and injuries.
I used my Pasta Boat for the first time the first week of school and everything went swimmingly. I chose the right ratio of pasta to water to time in the microwave and heated the sauce just so (I didn't even burn my mouth, I would call that a victory). And I continued using it on and off (aka every day) for the next two weeks.
Snow days are rare at Gustavus. We are a residential college and the only people that drive to campus for class are the sports boys that live in houses in town and professors from the cities. But, alas, we were gifted half a day off on Monday, March 5 because of a hellish snowstorm taking over our little haven. I made the resolve once I got back to my dorm to not leave until I absolutely had to. Messing my foundation up was simply not worth working out or eating food in the caf.
So I resolved to make myself dinner in my room. Honestly, I probably would have done so whether or not there was a snowstorm My friend Molly told me she was going to come over and I was advised to make the whole package of pasta by my mother (genius!).
After 19 long minutes of waiting for my pasta to be ready the microwave finally beeped, letting me know it was pasta time. I grabbed the steaming hot plastic contraption and speed-walked towards the communal bathroom on my floor. Excitedly I poured the water through the top of the Pasta Boat (that's the magic of the Pasta Boat--you can strain it without taking it out of the bowl!) and suddenly felt a searing pain in my left pointer finger. I figured I had just poured a little hot water on it and joked to Molly that I burned my finger and continued pouring the water out. Nothing stands between this girl and her pasta.
But as I began heating up my pasta sauce I looked down and saw a mad red spot on just a small part of my finger. I had never been burned before so I figured it was normal.
Turns out, it was not. Over the next few days a white blister formed and eventually popped and left an irritated opening in my finger.
I couldn't find my band-aids and Neosporin (more like, I knew where they were but was too lazy to drag my stool from my bed to the shelving unit they sat at the top of...a whole three feet).
I will forever wear the scar (I might glean) from this Pasta Boat incident as a reminder of how far I will go in the name of love.
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