About halfway through making stuffed shells, I remember why I rarely make stuffed shells. 

The massive pile of  dirty dishes. 

It starts with chopping an onion & garlic. This is where Johnny is lured by the captivating smell & has to investigate what dish is underway. He leans around me & inspects the proceedings. 

“Got yourself a smelly little pile there, dontcha?” Meaning the onion & garlic skins. I’m more worried about draining all this spinach & note that some has managed to stick to my forearm, giving me the appearance of Sprout, the Jolly Green Giant’s sidekick. 

 Toss onions into the oil, which spatters because I’m in a hurry & have the electric skillet up too high. The stockpot water is boiling away, so I try to add three jumbo shells at a time, as per package instructions, but quickly lose patience & dump the whole box in. Need to dig out the colander before I forget & then I’ve got a pot of noodles al dente with no place to go. 

Become distracted by grating cheese. Remember to add basil. Check basil plant. It’s been eaten by an unseen pest. Drag dining room chair over to cabinet to peer into the depths for dried variety. Looks a little old…oh well, better than nothing. Mix spinach, cheeses, egg, bread crumbs, & spices in mixer. Retrieve 9×13 pan. Warily eye mess as it builds. Remember pasta! Where’s the colander? Never dug it out! Crapcrapcrap! Things are moving now & husband decides this is the moment he needs to use the sink. Still have not fried meat. Drain shells, fry meat. Mix meat with spinach cheese mixture to save time but the effect is kind of disgusting looking. Oh well. Why can’t I mix tomatoes with this instead of dumping them on top? I’m going to! This recipe doesn’t know me. It’ll taste the same. Start scooping. After the top layer of shells has been used, they become progressively hotter as I get them out of the colander. Suck on finger to help burn. Good thing I’m not making this dish for anybody besides me & Johnny, it now includes my slobber. 

I hear Survivor come on. Must. Hurry. Cram remaining unstuffed shells among stuffed ones, wrap with foil, throw in oven. 

Survey mess. Emit loud sigh. Start washing now, because it will probably take to the thirty minute mark to get them cleaned, at which time I will need to pull shells & add mozzarella. 

Try to keep one ear on Survivor, but now Shug is listening on his phone at twice the volume of the TV. Hope is lost. 

Get garlic bread out. Pour glass of wine. Remember I have yet to pay my credit card, which is due today. Continue washing dishes & drinking wine. I watch five minutes of Survivor, which takes me to the vote, when I must return to the kitchen for final cheese. By the time I get back, somebody’s off the island, & I’m halfway between sleepy & starved. 

At nine, we dine. 

“I know this was a lot of trouble, baby, but it sure is good,” Shug says, as he heads back to the kitchen for seconds. I smile. I guess that makes it worth it.