Thursday, January 31, 2008
Then I reach my final destination of the evening, home sweet home. And I RUN up stairs to the kitchen and eat a yogurt or an apple while I wash the dishes or put a load of laundry in the dryer and then I'm still hungry. So I make a sandwich.
Alan has taken to emailing me with recipes from allrecipes.com that he wants me to cook. Awww, he's so cute isn't he? He things I am going to cook for him after a long day at work, going to the gym and then driving an hour home with all the other slack jawed yokel in the world. For me, cooking is about having the time to cook. I'll cook something on the weekend but I just don't feel the need to spend an hour, even 30 minutes cooking something when I can eat a sandwich or miscellaneous items with the same satisfaction. It's not worth it to me.
Who knows what we'll do when we have kids. I was actually thinking about that the other day, oddly enough, when I spied a booger in Alan's nose. I told him he had a bat in the cave and he went to pick it in front of me, proceeded to show it to me and I gagged and dry heaved like I do when I hear or see something gross. I thought "My God, what will I do when I have to change a diaper or clean up vomit and spit up?!?" I told Alan my fears and proceeded to let him know that I was hereby premptively assigning him with that duty. Yea. He laughed. HARD.
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]