She cringed when everything disappeared for a second while we passed the truck. The windshield wipers brought the wet freeway back into shiny night time soft-focus and she opened her eyes.
“At least we don’t have to think about dinner when we get home. That’s the nice thing about Chipotle leftovers.” The only nice thing about Chipotle leftovers is that, like red beans and rice, it’s better on day two and she was trying to distract herself from the rain and the freeway and my driving by talking. And distracting me. “We have cheese, too. Leftover from Thanksgiving, but it’s probably still good.”
“Is it possible for Velveeta to go bad? I mean it’s yellow candle wax.”
“It was kind of stiff. You need to get over a lane sometime.”
“Thank you. I’m trapped till the white Caddy gets off my ass. Our daughter liked it. She nuked it until it screamed and put it all over her broccoli.”
“She did? I didn’t notice. Well, I like it better when it has Rotel or something in it. We should have done that.”
“Yeah. Velveeta on its own is pretty disgusting. It’s too thick unless you cut it with something. Probably why we don’t ever buy it.”
“Maybe. There might be another reason.” She was smiling now, a twinkle in her eye, the exit in sight.
“Yeah.” She put her hand on my arm. “Maybe we don’t buy it because all we need around the house is another excuse for you to cut the cheese.”