And, if so, where do I begin?
Now this particular story begins with the mother's milk of everything good in my life - macaroni and cheese. And not just any run-of-the-mill-work-a-day-macaroni-and-cheese, my friends, it begins with this. . .
And the reason it's allowed to begin with this is that tomorrow is my birthday.
Yes, tomorrow is my birthday . . . and birthdays happen only once a year, you know. . . and what's more Drip Dry was scheduled to be out of town on a business trip. . . and that only happens like twice a year. . . so that made today. . .the birthday eve. . . like a magical day!
A magical birthday-eve-business-trip-day.
A day made even more magical-er because I could schedule my once-a-year-velveeta-pig-out.
Yes, a magical birthday-eve-business-trip-once-a-year-velveeta-cheese-pig-out day!
With no one looking, mind you. ('Cause I'm convinced that Drip Dry would start divorce proceedings if he ever thought I was eating something as disgustingly unhealthy as velveeta cheese. . .)
And so it was that I dragged my life-threatening ingrown toenail to the grocery store after work to procure the necessary ingredients. . . all the while a wee-bit-uneasy because Drip Dry's departure from the state was timed for 4:30 p.m. and I had not yet had confirmation that his wheels were in motion.
But I soldiered on none-the-less and trudged home to put the water on to boil - decidedly salivating at the thought of a glorious fun-filled night of cheesy goodness. And I was debating the possibility of cooking only half the box in the hopes that it would only be half the calories when my phone rang. . .
And I'm sure you can guess the rest of the story from the title of this blog post.
The magic ended.
The much-heralded pig-out thwarted.
Drip Dry came home for dinner.
And if he ever wondered exactly how his pedicure-wounded wife had that spinach ravioli boiled and cooked for him so quickly, he never asked. . .
and, God knows, I never told. . .
