I had a massive craving for instant mashed potatoes today. While making said potatoes, I had the most random memory pop into my head… to the point where it made me cry because I was laughing so hard. So gather round, children, and let me regale you with…
THE TALE OF THE SPACE POTATOES.
The year is 2004 and I’m 18. I’m engaged to a 25 year old youth pastor. I’m in the middle of my ~*~ReBeLlIoUs~*~ stage, so I rather enjoy drinking and smoking pot at this point. He does not, and it’s a major, reoccurring fight in our relationship. It is almost my 19th birthday, when I will (legally) be able to buy alcohol, and we are planning a limo trip into the big city for a night of bar-hopping. We have to drop the deposit off in a town about 45 minutes away. I don’t have a vehicle, and he has no license, so his little sister is driving us. She likes smoking pot. Her and I smoke 2 or 3 joints on the way there. He starts asking me what I want for dinner when we get home.
Now, this is where I interject with the seemingly random, but important, detail that my mother calls instant mashed potatoes “space potatoes.”
Back to the story. So, at this moment, in my incredibly high state, all I can think of is motherfucking instant mashed potatoes. So he asks again, “Do you wanna grab pizza or something for dinner?” I’m disgusted by this thought, not because I dislike pizza, but because everything about him seems so abhorrent that I’m automatically turned off every suggestion he makes. (I never said it was a healthy relationship, okay?) So I was like, “NO. FUCK YOUR PIZZA.” He asks again. “Sweetie, we need to eat when we get home. If you don’t want pizza, what do you want?” I look at him with insatiable cannabis-fueled hunger in my eyes, “I want space potatoes.”
This is the moment I realised that we would never work out.
“Space potatoes? What the hell are space potatoes?” he responded, looking utterly lost (which, frankly, was not difficult for a person who at one point proudly posted his IQ of 87 on Facebook…) “You know, space potatoes. They come in a package. You add water. They’re heaven in a pouch.” He kept staring at me with that same stupid expression. “Honey, you’re really stoned. Let’s just go home and order a pizza. My treat.” This was enough to make me snap. “NO FUCKING PIZZA!!! I WANT SPACE POTATOES!!!” I bellowed with a demonic savagery only heard in the blackest of metal songs. Suddenly, the sweetly stupid look was gone from his face. “Fine. Have your fucking potatoes, if they even exist. I’ll order my own damn pizza.”
So he called and ordered a pizza, then made his sister drive us to pick it up. When we got home, I made the best goddamn instant mashed potatoes of my life and watched Spongebob Squarepants while he sadly ate his cheese pizza and prayed for my eternal soul.