Last night I was going to make chicken, but the meat had freezer burn.  Yikes.  Since I suffered a bout of food poisoning last weekend, which I can only attribute to the expired greens on a bologna sandwich I made for myself (yikes again), I am squeamish about cooking anything that could be bad.  For some reason, muffins from Starbucks and Thai takeout seem to be much more appetizing than food I can pull out of my fridge and inspect myself.  It’s like I’m afraid of my own cooking.  What’s that about?  She’s too lazy to check the tiny “EXP” date on her food.  Don’t go over there. The hubby has been making most of our dinners for the past several days.  He’s pretty good in the kitchen.  And I’m pretty good at channel surfing and drinking merlot.

Hopefully, I’ll be back to normal soon.  This little guy is ready to chow down.

(Sidenote: Remember all those freakish warnings about listeria dangers when we were pregnant?  I ignored ’em.)

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