In which our intrepid hero confesses his culinary distaste for instant noodles.

Little known Dave fact (and something which I may well regret telling the world): back in the day, I was a fan of Under One Roof, Singapore’s first, stumbling effort at situational comedy.

It wasn’t particularly smart or sophisticated, but at 4.30pm on a weekday, it was either that or reruns of Scrappy Doo. Besides, for a disaffected teenager with a passing familiarity with both Bahasa Indonesia and Singlish, it provided entertainment that was simultaneously mindless and completely beyond those around me.

It was like having my own private Everybody Loves Raymond.

One episode—an entire twenty-something-minute episode—was about how much instant noodles suck. And I loved every moment of it. I nodded along. I laughed.

And now, I have a memory to keep me warm on days like today.

When I moved into my last flat about five years ago, I bought myself a five-pack of instant noodles, just in case I ran out of food and needed something to subsist on. Three-and-a-half years later, when I moved out, they were untouched. They were well past their expiry date, something which always mystified me, as I wasn’t aware that yellow, extruded PCB plastics and MSG were particularly safe to eat in the first place.

I woke up this morning, starving. No bread. Or cereal. The only food in the house was two packets of instant noodles. I could eat a horse, but I could only manage one of those packets. So, I ate noodles for breakfast. Oh, the indignity.

And guess what awaits me for lunch at work today? That’s right—more instant noodles! I feel like sticking a plastic fork in my eye.

I hate the day before payday.

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