Last night I had to work a little later than normal. It’s really no big deal, besides the fact that if I stay ten minutes late, it takes me an additional 15 minutes to get home.
Which blows.
Anyway. Cory got home before me, called me and asked my least favorite question of all time, What did you say we’re having for dinner?
Some chicken recipe I found on Pintrest. Why?
Because all of our chicken is still frozen. Again.
Sonofabitch.
We were both pretty hangry by the time I got home. I walked in the house to find that Cory had started to boil water and had two half-empty boxes of two different pastas on the counter.
Things were looking pretty desperate, and Cory’s too much of a gentleman to blame me for the situation we were finding ourselves in. (I always forget to thaw out the frozen foods!)
After flipping and flopping and bickering out of hunger, we decided there was only one possible solution.
But while at Chipotle, something happened that always seems to get Cory in a tizzy. As Cory was in line for our drinks, a boy was filling cups for he and his mother. The little boy had (free) water cups, but filled them with soda (dun, dun, dun.)
Cory starred daggers into the back off this pre-teen’s back, sighed loudly, and all but accused the mother of raising a no-good thief.
I, on the other hand, find myself wanting to give the kid a high-five, because I still don’t have the guts to do that.
