Last week I brought Mark some ice cream for dessert - the next morning I found the pint in the fridge instead of the freezer. Could be worse right?
A few days later I woke up with the intention of making bacon on toast for breakfast. I knew we had half a loaf of an Italian bread somewhere in the kitchen. I had just thrown away the exterior wrapper the night before. After digging through the kitchen for a good 15 minutes and then enquiring whether my husband had gotten the munchies and eaten half a loaf of bread in the middle of the night I finally decided to check the trash can. Yup. There it was. Buried in stinky rubbish. I almost cried. My husband called me cute. (I thought this whole episode had passed unnoticed by my toddler. Nope. A couple days later while I was giving her a snack, some buttered toast, she got fussy because she couldn't see the butter. I told her it had melted because the toast was hot. She decided that she did NOT want cooked toast and would I be kind enough to provide her with some uncooked bread. I told her we were out. Which we were. It was the last slice of bread in the house. Her response? After her eyes welled up with tears she gazed at me and with the most pathetic voice asked me why I threw all the bread away. Oops. I guess she caught that. )
Today? Ribs. I finally got up early enough to season and brown them, mix up some semi-scratch bbq sauce and pop them in the crockpot. Dinner should be simple and ready by 6pm. Around 3:30 I decide to check on them. Crockpot is cold. Apparently you need to plug these things in. Erm. Looks like dinner won't be ready for a while folks.
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