I was starving when I left work last night, which is never a good thing when a 40-minute commute looms ahead of me. All I can think about his how hungry I am and what I want to eat. And Michael was working late, which is even worse, because then I can eat whatever I want without considering whether or not he’ll like it.

When the craving hit it was clear and strong. I wanted macaroni and cheese.

I think it’s important to say that as a child I hated mac and cheese. Wouldn’t touch it. It wasn’t until years later (two years ago, actually) that I tried some off the plate of the kids I was babysitting for. And LOVED it. In some cheesy, smooth, slightly-disgusting way, it was delicious.

I had never made mac and cheese in my own home–partially because Michael would probably vomit at the mere smell of it–but mostly because it you really think about it, it’s kind of gross. I mean, it’s Cheesefood. Not just cheese. Yeah, ew.

Anyway, for some reason my stomach was saying mac and cheese, so I stopped and bought it.

And not even my thighs protested, because it was so good.

(And slightly gross.)

It was even better for lunch today.

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