Kraft macaroni and cheese boxes are now childproof. I tried to open the box by prying the sides of the cardboard. After that didn’t work, I stabbed a steak knife violently into that damn cardboard until I made a hole large enough to fit my fat fingers in (which was pretty much the whole top of the box). I don’t understand why they would change it up. Let’s face it: only kids and myself even eat Kraft macaroni, I assume (as they market it with a large yellow dinosaur of sorts); if neither of us can open the damn box, they’re out of business.
Other things I can’t open include jars of jam, twist off Crystal Light containers, new CDs, and aspirin. I’m not sure if it’s my clammy hands, or just the fact that I’m a moron when it comes to simple tasks. Give me a sentence to diagram or ask me who the Roman god of the sea is, no problem — but tell me to buy the groceries or plug in the PS2 and I become more useless than the dog. This is one of the perks of being married, although sometimes waiting for help requires patience (another one of my weaknesses). I once spent 12 minutes standing next to two slices of bread and the peanut butter until Steve came to the rescue after Tucker finally took a crap.
Earlier in the day (before the macaroni), I was out at the lake on my run. I got my first color of the season – the first peek of pink on my shoulders that will soon turn into a third degree burn and flake off into tiny particles as the summer wears on. Actually, I do believe, although I was slightly tipsy at the time, that my skin color was compared to that of an albino’s on Friday night. Actually, I’m completely positive that this happened. Well, no more of those comparisons: now I will be better compared to tomatoes and lobsters.