My dad is officially a sally. Is that not the most pathetic thing you've ever heard? Let me give you one reason. Here is the photo I captured this morning. It is the result of a solid hour and a half of chopping, dicing, and seasoning of at least 8 different delicious, organic foods. Also known as The Best Damn Salsa Emily's Ever Made.
This afternoon, I announced that the bowl was mine. All mine. I put the ingredients together, chopped, diced, you get the picture, it's the same story as the hen who baked the cake. I made it, I get to enjoy it.
Lance lasted until this afternoon when he started following me around for a good half hour, trailing my every move, and treating my salsa like gold dug up from the bottom of the ocean floor. Cute, right? You can't buy that kind of attention. Except that apparently he got mixed signals from yours truely. He was under the impression that by eating my salsa while I was away at my Cinco de Mayo promotion this evening, that he was doing me a favor. Like, is this helping? How about if I just consume the rest of this deliciousness and leave you nothing for the end of your shift when you're starving? Is that okay? Here, let me literally lick the bowl clean in it's entirety.
After passing out shots of Hornitos Tequila all evening, the least I could do is enjoy a little homemade salsa a la Cinco de Mayo. But no, that dream was crushed. The hunger pains are so strong right now that the adrenaline rush I just got from making a veggie omelette was not unlike snorting an entire eight ball of cocaine.
No comments:
Post a Comment