Since I have been relegated to teacher this life, I'm asking goodness, gracious, great balls of God if I can be psychic in the next life. Now, I'm not talking about that "Call ME, I'll tell yah if yah sister is safe" bullshit. But thanks, Cleo - that was great. None of that dead people heebie jeebie. I'll shout it loud, I'll shout it proud, I want to be a food psychic.

A! FOOD! PSYCHIC!

Scene:

TCWH is tucking into leftovers from Monterrey's, and all of a sudden, as she grabs the box, her eyes glaze over. Not a la That's So Raven (but no offense, puddin', 'cuz you sure were cute on the Cosby Show!) and her caterpillary asymmetrical eyebrows, but rather...umm...rather...damn, I need to watch more TV.

My body goes rigid as I flash forward (yup, that was a switch to first person. Follow me, follow me, good). to myself curled beside the toilet slick with sweat, grabbing on and hurling like a vegetarian at the Tripe Across America festival. I heed the warning, smile, and leave the food safe in the refrigerator until dh and I put it in the compactor. Gastrointestinal disaster avoided! Thanks, Food Psychic Alex!

See, wouldn't that be great? No longer would an evening be ruined or cut short by bad food or over milk consumption and the like. I'd probably be regarded as the newest superhero in just a few short months! I'd leap leftovers in a single bound! Spill spoilt milk quick! Saute slimy sashimi!

Ah well, a girl can dream, hmmm?