A few days ago, E brought in the mail, and there were a couple of copies of Cook’s Illustrated in the pile. This puzzled us, because the only time it has come to our house was when I grabbed an issue from Tara in December for a shortbread variation. I should have known I was not firing on all cylinders when I wondered, “Maybe they microchip them to see where they go? And then send enticing issues…? Maybe they can see into my kitchen. With satellites.”
Turns our Morgan and Tara got me a subscription. No microchips. Thanks, M&T!
Yesterday I woke up and my throat was like knives. Thank you, body, for getting sick on my busiest day, right before a really, full, fun weekend.
Seriously, I had a birthday toga party, hanging out with Gen and Arwen, shopping, and dinner out with E all planned. This has been pared down to hanging out with my brother’s friends for an hour (It’s his birthday today! And my number one Godson’s! And E’s best friend, who is also a Scott! March 6 is a big day around here!) while I blow my nose incessantly and curse my mucous production.
So now I am a snotty, bitter mess. Fuck you, body. Do you KNOW how seldom I see my friends? Or that I NEED to buy underwear? (Also, who is stealing my underwear? I used to have more pairs than I do now.) Or that I was going to be taken out for STEAK, but you can only handle soup! Fuck you very much, stupid, frail body.
At least I have Cook’s Illustrated to keep me and my ginger tea and endless kleenex company.