“I was at the grocery store tonight. I’d had chicken fingers for dinner, but that didn’t quite do the trick: felt kinda snackish, figured some cold cuts would about hit the spot. Looked at my options, wasn’t feelin’ the salami or the prosciutto, so I grabbed something that looked kinda bacon-y.
Driving home, opened up my treat. Looked rather oilier than I had anticipated. Didn’t want to try and eat it with my fingers, but didn’t have anything really handy. So I tore a corner off of my chicken fingers box and used it for a kind of makeshift spoon.
Got home, snack finished. Looked again at the packaging. “Diced Pancetta.” Despite sitting – literally – between the salami and the prosciutto, it is not pre-cooked.
Turns out, my proudest moment is *not* the night I ate an entire package of diced raw bacon with a goddamn cardboard shovel. Somehow, the fact that it wasn’t just bacon, but fancy imported Italian bacon, isn’t helping. On the other hand, the cardboard shovel’s previous life as a fast food wrapper *does* make it a little worse.
All of this is a long way of saying that I can now be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.”
Tales from the tabler household.
“Look daddy! Every time a bell rings a daughter accidentally nails her daddy in the nuts.”
My husbands poor poor family jewels..
“I was sitting on the couch, the other day, while Vivian was playing in the living room. She ran up to me, between my knees, like she usually does when she’s getting ready to crawl in my lap, but she stopped short.
“Hi! Hi, Vivian!”
I look around – she does say “ouch” when she gets an owie, but she says “ouch” for a lot of other reasons that I haven’t figured out yet.
“What’sa matter, sweetie?”
“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!”
“You OK? You alright”
“What’s ouch, sweetie?”
All of a sudden, she winds up and W H A M. Knee in the groin.
“… seriously, kid? Did you get sick of Sesame Street and switch over to Three Stooges while no one was looking?”
“I think you mean ‘nyuk nyuk nyuk.'”