something about porridge

November 7, 2017

I was standing at the sink just now, washing dishes and thinking about a story I read recently called Some Like It Hot, about how some people use hot water to wash dishes and some people use cold water, but really it doesn’t matter because the soap is what kills the germs anyhow. Let it be known that I am vastly suspicious of this reasoning. As I stand here typing with fingers whose upper layers have just been scalded away by dishwater hot enough to melt crayons.

Anyhow, I was thinking to myself the words ‘some like it hot’

and suddenly my brain just took over and rushed in all of its own accord to add

some like it cold; some like it in the pot, nine days old.

How many brain cells do I actually have just sitting around up there keeping track of nursery rhymes and the plots of Poirot episodes and Babysitter’s Club characters’ names? Either I am not using enough of my brain cells in my day-to-day life or I have a generous allotment to use on nonsense. (yay).

Furthermore, now I am wondering if we are being too uptight about our food use-by dates these days. Nine days in the pot sounds pretty nasty to me, but if people back then had as many issues as we currently do with gut bacteria, they don’t seem to have documented it very well. Or maybe we just haven’t tied it all together? I am considering leaving porridge in a pot for nine days and seeing what happens. I am not considering eating it.


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