Not too long ago, as you are aware, I made some pretty wicked enchiladas. I was eating said enchiladas one day as Sr. Loco came home. We exchanged pleasantries. I finished eating, did my dishes, and went to my room. Some 30 minutes later, Sr. Loco called up to me. Were those enchiladas that I ate? Those were some of the best smelling enchiladas he has encountered, he said. Could I send the recipe to him? I did so without delay, knowing full well that he wasn’t ever going to make them.
Today, I received an email from my office mate….a forwarded message from Sr. Loco regarding the enchiladas. He sent it to a large group of people here at the lab.
thought you might be interested in this!
--forwarded message with attachement--
[Lady Susan] made these last weekend. They smelled like the best
enchiladas ever! Unfortunately I only got to smell them.
"a little bit is better than nada, sometimes you want to eat
Sr. Loco has now made me out to be an enchilada horde. I walked into the office soon after the email was sent to hear cries of condemnation cast upon my person. “For Shame!” “What kind of a housemate are you?” (They were teasing of course but…..) Where in the lease was the statement, “you must provide for your housemates by cooking for them on a regular basis?” It wasn’t there people.
Lest you think that I am a completely ungenerous person, I must give you a better character description of Sr. Loco. Sr. Loco, besides being crazy, is a moocher of the highest order. He takes the left over food from lab events home to stock his own neglected part of the freezer, he gorges himself on free pizza the lab provides, he polishes off the plates of fellow diners at friendly gatherings all so that he won’t have to pay for and cook the food himself. If I were to offer him carte’ blanche on whatever I make, I would starve and rapidly plummet into debt. I know that if I give an inch, he will take the whole 100 yards. Do you understand why I don’t feed him? He also would not reciprocate in return. I take that back……..he would offer me some of his burnt, sugar loaded chocolaty, chocolate pancakes, or burnt box brownies made with respired eggs, or burnt cookies thrown together without a recipe, but somehow those just don’t appeal to me. And for special occasions, I do cook for him. I made a very lovely birthday cake for his birthday, and for Christmas gave him chocolaty treats with dried fruit and nuts. I am not completely without soul.
I must persevere against this persecution and hope that, in time, my colleagues will not listen to such malicious slander and instead see me as who I really am: A person who simply doesn’t like being taken advantage of.