The Eats

My husband is snoring like a freight train. He’s so loud, I got up from my computer desk here where I was doing some serious business like looking at dog pictures, peeled him a Breathe Right strip, and handed it to his sleepy self, so he could stick it on the bridge of his nose. I suspect he must have stuck it on his arse because he’s still in the bedroom snoring like a runaway freight train and would have continued all night, except for the fact the little dog got something caught in her throat and made a noise like a flock of geese looking for their mates. The little dog successfully once again derails the freight train and then, promptly trots out the dog door mission accomplished.

When Hubby is not unconscious, he is a great cook, specializing in meats. Don’t ask me to name the butt rump wing shoulder pieces he is cooking because I can’t. My job is to eat, and I’m an expert at that. Today, Hubby decided to make his own Boston Baked Beans. And this is the part I can’t comprehend. I can buy baked beans in a can for $2.59. Hubby’s baked beans cooked for 6 hours, and the oven heated up the whole house so bad we had to open up all the windows. I asked him what was going on. He said he had a recipe he had to try, and he said that like a woman. A 6’ 5” woman with a beard. I bet today’s gas bill exceeds a whole month’s worth, and if it does, I’m gonna call the gas company and tell them we had a leak. It’s fixed, but there was a leak. In the oven. With some beans.

We had the beans for dinner, and this is the other part I don’t get. The pork chop was to die for, but the beans were hard nuggets of molasses. How does anyone do that? I can ask that and not be rhetorical because I really have no idea. I can’t even turn the stove on, or is that thing an oven? Anyway, I put most of them in a Tupperware container for “later,” which might be code for “let the green mold grow on ‘em.” He finished the dinner by asking me if I liked his beans. I told him, “They were salty.” He told me that he liked them and was going to eat them again. We’ll see. I’m gonna keep my ear to the ground and see if I hear that garbage disposal grinding suspiciously.

And here, I’m going to end up with a very sad picture. It’s the inside of my frig. I have some sort of sleepwalking/eating disorder, that’s an ice cream killer. I get up in the night, get the Rocky Road ice cream out of the freezer, eat some of it and then put it back in the refrigerator. Happens 9 times out of 10 we have Rocky Road ice cream from Lourdes. Sad. Very sad. The soup Rocky Road goes down the disposal too.

Advertisements

4 Responses to “The Eats”

  1. I sleep on my side or I should say both sides as I toss and turn. When I fall asleep on my back, I snore. I’ve even woke myself up a time or two.

    “I asked him what was going on. He said he had a recipe he had to try, and he said that like a woman. A 6’ 5” woman with a beard.” That’s funny, but hey, I like to cook on occasion.

    • Hubby snores on his back too and his right side…and come to think of it on his left side.

      Cooking is essential for good eating. I wish I knew more about it. Thank God for take out.

  2. Breath Right, what a joke! Significant other bought a box of Breath Right strips, it was putting a diaper on Chernobyl to prevent a core meltdown. The only Breath Right strip that would work is one big enough to glue significant other on the wall of the bedroom, he doesn’t snore when he’s standing up, all other positions are snoring nirvana. Like Steve, significant other’s snoring wakes him up, but he yells at me that I’m snoring, he doesn’t believe that air hose in septic tank noise is actually coming from him.

    I wish I could complain about significant other’s cooking skills, but he’s never cooked, but we’ve only been together 31 years, so hope springs eternal.

    As for ice cream in the refrigerator, I got a better story than that, back when I was single and living with a girlfriend, at least once a month we’d have an all out scavenger hunt to find a misplaced item. Once when girlfriend was in a hurry to get to work, she put the iron in the refrigerator and the milk in the storage cupboard. We didn’t iron everyday so it was several days later when she started asking me “where did you put the iron?” Needless to say, I denied all knowledge of the missing iron, but several days later we started smelling something funky, it was the milk spoiling in the cupboard. So girlfriend goes to the store to replace the spoiled milk, and when she stuck it in the refrigerator there sat the missing iron. So your ice cream problem, while annoying, doesn’t make the entire house smell like misplaced dairy funkiness.

    • ha ha ha… a diaper on Chernobyl. I know what you mean. I laughed out loud at that.

      Nasty about the milk. No, the ice cream only melts in the refrig. It annoys me so bad, sometimes I try to drink it.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: