We are so not afraid
A Pointless Story About Me and the Three Times I've Spoken to My Neighbor Who Reminds Me a Little Bit of Mary Gross.
Three Weeks Ago:
Me (going into my garage): Hello!
Her (throwing an oily grocery sack full of garbage into the Dumpster): Hello!
Her (stopping on her way to the Dumpster again with oily grocery sack full of garbage, as Katie sniffs her ankles): Does it bite?
Me: No, she sniffs and kisses.
Her (delicately drawing foot away anyway): I have cats.
Me (thinking): Of course you do.
Me (standing in my pajamas and an overcoat in the driving rain, waiting for Katie to take a dump in the grass so I can go back inside and make coffee): Another good reason to have cats.
Her (jumping over a puddle and carrying oily grocery sack full of garbage): Ha, ha!
New Year's Eve Dinner In Pictures!!
Or, phoning it in until Jackson goes back to school next week
Chef Boyardee at the five-burner
New Zealand green-lipped mussels
Clams! Clams! Clams!
Soft-shelled crabs, having been soaked in milk for a half an hour and then batter fried, may still end up tasting just a little too eerily of the sea.
Not allowed to eat scraps . . .
. . . but it's okay if she licks the floor clean, that's not disgusting at all, oh, no.
Look, mom! Look! Look now! Okay, now! Look! MOM, LOOK!
We are so not afraid of butter.
Check out the grill marks on the scallops. Awww, yeah.
Italian parsley always spruces up a crappy looking plate like this, let's face it.
My feeling exactly.