We were meant to be together

I think I mentioned that last weekend Sexy Boyfriend and I went to dinner with his brother, R, and his girlfriend D. I also mentioned that I had a veal stuffed pasta thing that was not so great.

But, D got the dish that I usually order, a spinach fettucini in a tomato and mushroom sauce (with big chunks of cherry tomatoes and portobello mushrooms), with a big slab of brie cheese and a big slab of goat cheese on top. I sat through the whole meal with my icky veal-stuffed pasta, with a tasteless sauce, while she twirled the yummy, gooey, semi-spicy noodles around her fork. I was so sad.

At the end of the dinner, Sexy Boyfriend, D, and I all got leftovers for take-home, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't eat mine. I put it in the fridge on Saturday, along with Sexy Boyfriend's leftovers, and went about my weekly business. On Wednesday, Sexy Boyfriend took his portion of Veal Scarolies (veal stuffed with cheese in a gravy sauce, with spaghetti) to work for lunch. It just so happened that R also brought D's leftovers for his lunch.

I got a phone call.

"Open the fridge, look at your leftovers."

Score!! The stupid waiter, (or maybe the ingenius waiter who saw my displeasure, or my lack of enthusiasm, or whatever) mixed up the packages, and I got D's leftovers, which would have been my leftovers anyway if I hadn't stupidly ordered something new to try.

I can't remember if I've ever enjoyed leftovers quite so much.