Yes. yes. Eight (8) litres of soup.
Why eight?
As I posted last time I turned 25 on the 25th of April, and such an occassion deserves to be celebrated in grand style. But since I can't afford grand style, I celebrated it by inviting anybody I felt remotely interesting into my house to spend a relaxing evening at home. The initial count rose a bit above thirty, and thirty people need to be fed. Simple. So I enlisted my mom, the best of the best, and asked her to make two pans of soup, tomato and vegetable, so I could give people soup, and I was planning on making snacks, sandwiches, anything really.
My mother miscalculated, and arrived toting the abovementioned litres. And then the cancellations started coming in... Friend who suddenly needed to stay late at work and would be arriving after dinner, people who called to say they'd be eating at home, people spraining their ankles, anything you can think of really. In the end, I ended up with about nine or so people for dinner. They valiantly battled the tsunami of food I spread out before them, but didn't make any real dent in the available consumables.
So I'm left with a load, load of food. Most of this, the chips, the crackers, the cheese, will keep well, but the soup, the blasted soup, won't. So me and my roommate have been eating soup this weekend. And the vegetable is now completely gone, but the tomato is still a daunting prospect, and because soup is only soup for so long before it turns into a new tenant, I am going to be forced to throw it away, and it sucks, because it is really, REALLY good soup.
Incidentally, soup is one of those words that loses all meaning when used too often.
Ah well, the birthday was right fun, a good group of people to get together, all's well that ends well, except for the soup, that won't end well.
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