Fido Is Coming For Dinner

I am not a cook.  I never claimed to be.  In fact, it’s a joke among my family and friends.  Sure.  I can cook up something real good when I am in the mood.  But I need to be in the mood.  Which is rarely.

I really, really loathe the “what’s for dinner” question from DH.  He asks every day.  No really.  It doesn’t matter what time it is.  The question could come at 9am.  It could come at 4pm.  After a meal.  Before a meal.  Whether he is hungry or not.  Every single day.  I really do try to make myself unavailable.  You know.  When I see him coming, I pretend I’m on the phone.  Or go into the bathroom and feign diarrhea.  I’ll even try to change the subject before he brings up that subject.  Because I always know.

Every week, I sit and make a plan.  I plan every meal.  Every week.  The problem is sometimes I make crap that I know the family may not enjoy because it’s easy.  I also plan a meal I’ve made a bazillion times.  There could be a chance that they are sick of it, but I don’t want to know.  Because it’s easy.

Tonight, I had plans to go out for drinks with a friend.  Not dinner.  Just drinks.  But I knew that we would probably order some appetizers.  Which means that I would probably not be eating dinner.  You know, when I got home.  I generally like to make dinner for the family on nights like this because otherwise I’ll feel guilty.  But guess what it has to be?  Easy.

I found a recipe online for beef stir fry.  Who doesn’t like stir fry?  It had 5 ingredients or less which is my rule for making a meal.  Unless I am in the mood, of course.  Which is — say it with me — rarely.  I bought some stuff at My Retail Job.  You know.  The “beef.”  I added some carrots, broccoli, garlic, soy sauce.

I had a nice time with my girlfriend.  We shared some damn nice appetizers.  When I got home, I asked the question I truly didn’t want to know the answer to.  “How was dinner?”  They both looked at me like I just crapped my pants.  With total disgust.  DH’s reply?  “Why did you give us Alpo?  And by the way, we saved you some.  And I’m gonna make you eat it.”

This is tonight’s dog food, er, I mean, dinner. Okay, probably not the best choice.

Ok, so I’m not the best beef picker outer.  Maybe it was full of a little too much grizzle.  I really didn’t have much of a choice.  But damn.  I made dinner.  Hey, at least they got some vegetables.  Isn’t that what matters most?

No Grocery Left Behind

My alter ego

Damn! My chicken and ground beef never made it into my cart. The nice boy at the store who bagged my groceries didn’t put it in.  I didn’t notice until I got home.  Ugh.  Now I have to go back.  Unfortunately, the store I shopped at is down the street from the kid’s dance studio which is over 20 minutes away from my home.  I guess it doesn’t have to be a major problem.  The next time she has dance, I figured I would stop by and pick it up, which was Tuesday — the night before I wanted to make the meal with the beef.  Perfect.

On the way to dance Tuesday night, I drove right by that ever-lovin’ store, not once but twice.  It never occurred to me to stop in to collect my meats.   What a shocker.

Wednesday morning, as I was getting prepared to get my crockpot meal together, I opened the freezer to extract my pound of ground beef.  I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t laying right on top.  It should be since I only went grocery shopping 3 days ago.  So, I proceed to search deeper.  It took me about 30 seconds before I remembered where it was. Crap!  Poop!  SHIT!!!!  I really didn’t have time for this.  It was going to be a crazy afternoon.

I stood up from the freezer with a dazed look on my face.  I felt like I was hit with a stun gun.  Wait.  What happened?  I thought I was going to be passing that store on Tuesday.  Then I remembered that I DID pass that store on Tuesday because Tuesday was yesterday.  Awesome.  I’m an ass.

I know I already have one foot in the looney bin.  But can’t I blame this whole thing on the store bagger guy?  Yes, I think I will.  I don’t think I’ll add this to the list of reasons why I should be committed.  Oh and I hope my family doesn’t mind Chinese again.