Sydney likes them, too

I had one of my stand-by dishes for dinner tonight. It's called, cutely, "sad-faced noodles." The meal itself is not a particularly healthy one, it consists of macaroni, butter, and salt and pepper. It's a yummy bowl of goodness though, that I have enjoyed regularly as long as I can remember. Mom made it for me since I was little. I never questioned the pasta dish itself as I got older. Instead, I always wondered why, oh why, the noodles are sad. Mom says it was me who did the dish naming, and I'll buy that, but still, I think, why the heck aren't they "happy-faced noodles?" I mean, they could be happy noodles, too, right? Or was I a particularly morbid or pessimistic child? Or maybe, just maybe, the noodles actually are sad ... because they know that they're dinner?