Spinach Tortellini - Good as Eating Spinach

If you'd guessed what I'd turn out like as an adult based on how I was as a kid, you'd have never in a million years come up with Type A. Every single thing has a place, and every single thing has a well-thought out reason for that place. As a kid my room was a total and complete wreck. My idea of cleaning my room was to squish the clothes on the floor into a smaller pile and then throw an unfolded shirt over the whole thing. Wow, kids are so stupid. (What? Just me? Oh, okay.)

I was forever being sent to go clean up my room. At one point in fifth grade, my mother decided I was allergic to jelly and forced me to take plain peanut butter sandwiches on rye bread to school for lunch. I may or may not have thrown a few of those into the depths of my closet. I may or may not worn gloves and run screaming through the house to the garbage pails in the garage to throw out those sandwiches when my parents found and demanded I dispose of them.

My parents tried everything to get me to clean my room. Every time they sent me though, I just sat around reading my books or writing. They tried telling me firmly. They tried yelling. Threatening. Fining. Oh yes, my mother would charge me $2 or whatever every time she walked by my room and saw it messy. I argued this (and to this day, maintain that I had an excellent argument) but my mother would just randomly fine me. I claimed this was completely unfair as my bedroom was at the end of a hallway. It was physically impossible to stand on either side of my doorway, let alone walk PAST the door to ascertain whether my room was clean or dirty. Solid logic, right?

One day, when I was ... some older age but not yet moved out, I was cooking pasta while my mother was reading in the kitchen. She asked me to not pour boiling water over the wooden spoon used to stir, when I was pouring the pasta into the strainer. She claimed it wasn't good for the spoon. I nodded, and said I'd try to remember. I did try, and forgot sometimes, but remembered more than I forgot.

Tonight I was cooking pasta, and watched the boiling water flow into the strainer as I held the pot in my left hand, spoon in my right. Can't help but wonder if my room would have gotten cleaned if my mother had just come up with an equally logically reason for why I should do it.

Probably not...