pantry space here is very small, just 3 little half-moon shelves, so i no longer buy funky dry goods on a whim. when i cleaned out my last kitchen preparing to move i found some truly curious jars, bags and boxes. not here. the other day when i bought vermouth for fish, i placed it next to the other chefly boozes (sherry, marsala, brandy, etc.) and i realized how long i'd held a very unconscious habit of never keeping cooking alcohol in the house. it came out of living with an alcoholic. he'd drink anything. he didn't have to enjoy the taste, it just had to have a proof percentage on the label. so i couldn't keep anything around, cuz it would get gulped. (don't remind me of the 1988 krug i'd gotten as a gift that he chugged one christmas eve while i was working. we didn't speak for days.)
anyway.
it should have been a no-brainer the last time i locked the door on him all those years ago, but it happened only a few months ago.
we all have our routines of cleaning the house, of bathing, of dressing. automatic motions that require no thought. i always put on my socks then my pants. the g.c. always did the reverse. which never made sense to me, because he'd have to roll up his pants. but hey, they were his socks, his feet and his pants. didn't affect me one bit.
the same handful of restaurants and bars get my business; same websites daily; same breakfast; when cooking for myself, spin the same small rotation of dishes.
at the editor's the other night, i got back into bed and he said, "do you realize you always ask me if you may go to the bathroom?" boink. no, i did not.
i can only wonder what other patterns he sees that i don't.
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