Today I ate dinner at the top-notch cafeteria at my college. The food isn’t too terrible, but it is definitely school cafeteria-y. The worse thing about it is the poor selection. Today I ate a cheese quesadilla and a bowl of cottage cheese and grapes. It was worth the thousand dollars I pay for a meal plan, I am sure. The quesadilla did do a good job transporting me back to my eighth grade year in home economics class… flashback. We had just finished up a roaring segment on balancing a check book. The class was preparing to start learning what every thirteen year old wants to learn: cooking. Our teacher prefaced with demonstration on washing knifes and measuring liquids. The class patiently waited to be split into groups. One group would learn to cut green beans, another would master the art of sauteing mushrooms, and the last, most coveted group would learn to make cheese quesadillas. We all silently prayed, and I was rewarded with the job of official cheese measurer. And for the next week each day at two I made perfectly measured cheese quesadillas with four other eighth graders. It wasn’t exciting, or interesting, but as far as what I learned from that class it is the one thing that has lasted. Oh, and the scar I got from spilling melty cheese on my forearm. Yep, that’s still there.
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