I’ve been encouraged by you readers to keep it real. So-it’s those unbelievable moments I shall continue to share. One son, and I won’t say who–offered to make dinner the other night. His dad wasn’t feeling great and I was working late. The meal: left-over red beans (good), skillet sausages (really good), beet and avocado salad (I whipped that up when I got home–ever the vegetable pusher), and rice.
It seemed like a fine meal and I was really psyched that he stepped up to make dinner. Just as it was being served, he gave me a bite of the rice to see what I thought of it. “Well,” I said–“it needs salt and it’s a little mushy but, other wise I think its fine.” He smirked and displayed a look that suggested that maybe he shouldn’t tell me something. But he did tell me about it and shared that when he smelled the boxed chicken stock which he used for the rice, he wasn’t sure if it was still good–having got it open from the fridge.
So when I asked if the carton was still around and he handed it to me to sniff, I almost gagged. IT was SO turned, bad, funky, yuk, cringe-making that I could not believe it. “NO-we can’t eat it–the chicken stock is bad” I said, too which his reply was something about the boiling point taking care of any problems. Folks, (and, guys–I’m sorry)–this is such a guy gaff, I can’t even begin to describe it. It makes the empty-morning-milk carton seem like no big deal. Plus (but, a minor detail– the rice was burnt on the bottom too). So, as one reader so aptly put it–it’s two steps forward, one step back in this household. But I shall never give up, dammit and neither should you!
On the flip side, this gorgeous arrangement of peonies and lilacs which have the most intoxicatingly beautiful scent, came from the Quinn males for mothers day and every time I breath it in, I smile with gratitude for my great fortune even if it comes with a dose of bad chicken stock along the way.