Another Saturday Night

Sometimes I still feel a genuine guilt pang for that time in first grade, away on a class trip sleepover, I pretended to be asleep on the top bunk because I knew the first person to zzzz won a cupcake. (Inappropriate, past teachers of mine, but nonetheless incredible.)

In the same grade, to the same teacher, I lied about having a sore throat so she'd give me an orange candy from her secret tin. I still feel bad about that, too.

Apparently, if ever taken hostage for information, my torturers just need to wave a doughnut in my face and I'll tell them everything.

In other news, I cooked up some din din for mah man and two other menfolk tonight. Baked pork chops with apples, Martha's mac 'n cheese, sauteed broccoli, Mexican Coca-Cola out of glass bottles. Then warm cookies and peanut butter ice cream, made fresh on the premises.

Back in college, where I lived exclusively on Spaghettios and Gatorade and "entertaining" meant finding a lighter for the smokers, I would never have guessed it in 12,000 years - but I really like to cook and throw together these little nights. And making tonight even better, my delicious hubs-band just gave me, as a pre-birthday (holy S*&T I'm almost 27 CHOKE GASP DIE I'M DEAD) present, a vintagey apron with a twirly bottom that makes me feel happy and wholesome and helpful. Because we all know how much I love aprons. Basically, if you cook without one, you're doing it wrong.

And now I'm going to stay up late and sing songs to stay up later because falling asleep makes tomorrow Sunday and we all know how I feel about Sundays.