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Expected to know
all the dishes, servers eat
the entire menu.
Undercooked pancakes,
misspelled cards, weeds for flowers.
Love makes them perfect.
All around it, the
town is dead. Pity the poor
taken investors.
Shopped a membership
warehouse store today. Got six
years’ worth of ketchup.
Vegans, stay away,
lest your firm resolve melt from
tender smoked brisket.
I eat meat because
it’s Texas. Tender steak like
beef cotton candy.
Some people like to
cook. Then there’s me who dreads that
thing called dinner hour.
Home-cooked spaghetti,
‘I Am Legend’ at Sunny
Isle. Just like back home.
Not enough time for
cookies, cards, decorating.
Which one do I skip?
God rest ye merry
gentlemen? I don’t see them
lifting a finger!
Two tribes - In-laws and
Parents - force you to over-
eat, then watch TV.
I really should start
dinner. But husband’s gone, so
I’ll just blog and starve.
Post-tryptophan, we
watch Forrest Gump and digest
the day’s memories.
Don’t count calories.
Savor silken pumpkin, tart
cranberries. Taste joy.
Tempting smells - so strong
they nearly satiate the
appetite - drift by.
They’ll watch football. We’ll
cook. Men and women. Hunters
and gatherers still.
If every meal
were cereal, we’d all have
more hours in the day.
Brine, barbecue, deep
fry, roast, smoke? How many ways
can you do one Tom?
I’m the kitchen air
traffic controller, and the
oven my runway.
If you clear out the
fridge for the turkey, then where’s
the other food go?
Canned pumpkin sold out.
Damned overachievers! I’m
a “last-minute” type.
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