First, you have to plan to be gone during the first week that it gets cold enough for the heater to kick in.
Prior to leaving, let your son eat a plate of spaghetti (extra cheese) in his bedroom. He must not eat it all, though. He has to leave some, or the experiment will fail.
Now, have your son leave the plate under his nightstand right in front of the heater vent.
Leave. Come back in a week.
While your son is getting ready for bed, comment that, “What, you didn’t take a bath while I was gone?” Sniff son. Note that aroma coming from him isn’t quite what you first noticed. (Make note to hose son down first thing in the morning.) Look under nightstand. Make exclamation not usually considered proper in front of son:
“What the hell is that!”
Note that the fine hairs covering the spaghetti strands make them look like the tendrils–no, tentacles–of some sort of Martian genetic experiment gone awry. Note also the round green/black circles of putrescence that seem to orbit the quasi-Martian-octopus.
Very carefully, pick up the plate. See the gel-like substance ooze ever so slightly in a way that makes the tentacles seem to move on their own.
Make an immediate decision to discard the plate rather than try to wash it. Gingerly place plate into garbage bag. Take out garbage. Return to son’s room. Advise him that he won’t be eating in his bedroom again until he’s 32.
This experiment may work with daughters. I don’t know.
You mean that grayish-pink thing you’re using for a doorstop? Sure. What the hell? Send it. My son has grown exotic cultures on other comestibles, and salt-soaked seafood might pose an interesting challenge for him.
This reminds me of something I did when I was in primary school. The day before the holidays, I’d taken a tuna sandwich to school for lunch. I didn’t eat it that lunchtime and left it in my bag for the remainder of the two-week holidays. The first day back at school, my mother opened up my school bag, peered in and nearly vomited. There was a smell quite like no other. She oopened up my lunchbox and the tuna sandwich had become some sort of slimy, furry, green creature. I’m suprised it didn’t try to walk away.
Yes, my freind, it works with daughters. We have created many a new life form over the years. Some of them were quite stunning in a Van-Goish sort of way.
What you really never, ever want to do is to leave leftover rice in a rice cooker, for, oh, about 4 weeks. One of those nifty, practically airtight ricecookers, so that instead of merely molding and drying out, it putrifies. Trust me, putrification is much, much worst than mold, see this column for verification. I searched for three days looking for what I was sure must be a dead mouse. Ugh.
My challenge is that not only do I have the son who stows food in his room, I have the SO, who has been a live alone batchelor for 10 years, and needs some assistance identifying what is suitable for the trash container and what is suitable for the frig.
Milk, in particular is an issue. He’ll keep the milk in the frig for some 3 weeks past it’s “might be ok for a science experiment” date. THEN, it’ll progress to the kitchen counter. we you aware that if you leave mild in a sealed container long enough, it starts to produce gasses that E-X-P-A-N-D the container??? I firmly believe that I personally have saved mid Michigan from certain disaster by taking care of the milk container BEFORE it exploded.
Last night, as I was chatting on the phone with SO, I was interrupted by son who was asking if a particular item from the frig was ok to eat. “any thing blue or spidery growing from it?” Nope. Ok to eat. (it was apple butter by the way, so I knew it was ok anyhow… }
When I was growing up our house was besieged every spring and summer by half-inch long black ants. My sister had a charming habit of leaving half-eaten apples lying on the floor
These two phenomena combined to create an event which left me traumatized for weeks…picking up an apple core to throw it away, I was suddenly aware of something moving on my arm. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have looked, but I did. There were about a thousand black ants crawling over me.
When I was a wee lad, knee high to a grasshopper, under the bed was an excellent place to seclude snacks and uneaten portions. It made the dust bunnies particularly large and omnivorous and they in turn protected me from the dreaded Monster Under The Bed.
I think they ate him. Must have been all of that penicillin or whatever growing on the snacks I left.
My Mother, however, had a real dim view of this act of self protection.
When I was a kid, I had the one dog who wouldn’t eat the stuff I didn’t want when I tossed it under the table. I had to start keeping a sandwich bag in my lap, and slyly sliding my unwanted food off the edge of the plate and into the bag. All without my parents seeing this. The bag would then be deposited between the seat and the wall ( we had this restaurant style table/bench combo in our kitchen). I would often forget to retrieve this on garbage night, and my mother would find it, sometimes a collection, all green and fungly, weeks later when she would slide the bench out to clean.
Rysdad, maybe you should feed your son astronaut food? Or trail mix, or something dehydrated. Of course, this behavior could come in handy for the science fair - no more worries about what the project will be this year.
wring, you and I have such strikingly normal families.
I have such fond memories of having to ask my mom if a particular something from the refrigerator was edible. I’m planning on passing along the same habit to my children. There’s already quite a collection of borderline-to-“did this actually used to be food?” stuff in my fridge. I’m saving it for those rainy-day indoor-fun activites.
Persephone: Now guess what this used to be, BabyGoddess!
BabyGoddess: Ummm, spaghetti?
Persephone: Nope! Your turn, BabyGuy!
BabyGuy: Chicken?
Persephone: You’re right, BabyGuy! Here’s a gold star for you!
When I was about 10 one of my best friends came home with me after school. I had a trash can in my room, but since I only ever used it occasionally for paper, I rarely emptied it. My friend didn’t know this and casually tossed in her uneaten sandwich from lunch without my noticing. (Fortunately it was wrapped tightly in one of those plastic baggies.) About two weeks later I noticed it, and the next time we talked, I admonished her for leaving her peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my bin. She apologetically informed me that it was actually… ham and mayo. EWWW…
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