The following may seem like it was inspired by a writing prompt I found on tumblr, but do not be deceived. It is actually a scene that really, truly happened to me last night. I have the leftovers to prove it (though not very many mushrooms are left).
Water was bubbling on the stove, ready for dinner preparation. I had already dumped mushrooms into the sauce, and given in to the temptation of eating one… several times (there were still a few left for my family to eat). Tearing open the box, I dumped the spaghetti into my handy pasta storage container.
I stared at it for a moment, wondering why I even had a handy pasta storage container, since all I seem to do with it is take spaghetti out of the box to put in it, take spaghetti out to eat, then take more spaghetti out of the box to put in the container again. I shrugged and consoled myself with the knowledge that all storage containers are like that; it’s just easier to notice with the handy pasta storage container, since it’s much tinier than, say, my handy flour storage container that can handle a 10 pound bag of flour with room to spare.
There was room to spare in my handy pasta storage container, so I grabbed another box of spaghetti and squeezed its contents into the handy pasta storage container, too. I tapped it lightly on the counter, settling all the shorter pieces to the bottom. Then I noticed something strange. Something sinister. The spaghetti from the first box was half an inch longer than the spaghetti from the second box.
“Shrinkflation,” I whispered to myself, and shook my fist in the direction of the store where I’d purchased the offending pasta. Then I turned the boxes over and looked at them. Both said, “1 lb,” and my annoyance receded. “If they both weigh the same, I guess they can cut it to whatever length they want,” I reasoned aloud. “Not like when they pretend that bacon is on sale but it’s only 12 ounces instead of a pound.”
I put the spaghetti in the water.
“Now that’s sinister.”
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