So I want steak for dinner, like every other night this week. But I can't cook it, because touching or smelling the raw or cooking steak makes me want to spew. So I call my parents, and Cleo and I head over there for some quality time and steak cookage. And then I realize we don't have any potatoes, and what good is steak without potato?
So I call my grandmother, who lives in the same neighborhood as my parents, and ask if she has a spare potato. "Shut yo mouth," she says, which is Southern for "Yes, you are welcome to my spare potato".
So I leave Cleo with my mom, happily shoveling in the strawberries and eggs, and I bop on down to Mimi's, where I admire her "beets and radishes" t-shirt, select a potato, laugh at my rapidly growing midsection, and discuss the possibility of macaroni and cheese on Mother's Day, which goes something along the lines of, "Well, if someone were to *bring* macaroni and cheese, I guess we wouldn't throw it in the garbage..." since no one in my family can ever ask for anything outright, ever.
And then I walked back to my parents' house, happily tossing the potato in the air and catching it.
And I realized... life is good!
And.... I must look like the neighborhood loon!
Seriously... who throws a potato?
Oh, that pudgy girl walking down the street. She likes to throw a potato, but she never hurts the cats and pays for the windows she breaks, so we're okay with it. I am the crazy person.