So off to the kitchen my tot and I went. Me to find the surprisingly few ingredients I needed and him in the hoped of stirring something and licking a spoon. I mixed the dough, rolled it out into long tubes, gave my son a beater paddle and kept one for myself, stuck the cookie snake in the freezer and promptly forgot about it for a few hours.
“Soooo whaddya want me to bring?” I asked the host. “Hmmm how about stuffed mushrooms?” she said. “Uhhhh what?” was my response. At that I just sort of ya know…stared blankly at the world around me for a good ten minutes…accepting the fact that I had to freakin cook…stuffed freakin mushfreakin rooms.
Fast forward to the famous sushi conversation. It was a sunny day on the mountain, we were enjoying some nice powder runs and guzzling some crisp beer! When all of a sudden (beyond my control) the conversation turned to food. When this happens, I have a tendency to nod and smile politely while thinking about what it would be like for two fat people to have sex. I mean anything is better than discussing food. Next thing ya know, Annabelle proclaims that “eating sushi is, like, orgasmic dude”.
Before I hopped into my car I let out the hugest scream. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” I tucked my nose safely inside my sweatshirt placed my sweaty palms firmly on my steering wheel, put the car into drive and away I went.
What made the situation worse was that the bodies that were once attached to these warm, stinky pig heads, were in the truck in front of me. Trying to pretend I was on a beach in Maui sipping a Pina Colada wasn’t cutting it. I literally felt like I was going to pass out.
Once upon a time I was asked to cook a pot roast for my family. I was shocked at said request because I hate cooking, I hate talking about it, I hate doing it, why cook when you can have someone else do it for you? Besides… I didn’t even know what animal a pot roast came from. To me a pot roast took me back to high school and college… and a pipe and a lighter was all that was necessary for our pot roasts.
