Today seems like the perfect day to make and eat a tray of mac and cheese.  The good kind, and not the nasty kind from a box that makes it look nuclear.  The kind I make has three, real cheeses in it and is baked until bubbly with a lovely crusty top.  Mostly, I just to make it and then breath in the smell.  Because of all the cacca in my lungs, I’m off dairy, so while I may not imbibe in the smooth cheesiness, I can let it envelope my olfactory functions and make me warm that way.  In any other house, I could save some for future consumption…not so with the men that live here.  They would find it and pick away little by little thinking I could never miss a noodle or two until there would be nothing more than one little bite.  So soup it will be for me and the comfort of my favorite geek spy “Chuck” and a thick blanket.