If you only know one thing about me, know that I. LOVE. FOOD. My tombstone will probably look like this one day:
|It’s pretty morbid when you’re writing your own tombstone|
The other morning, I snagged one of the last baguettes at the store, a major victory on my part. It wasn’t easy since another mom with her twin boys screaming in their oversized double jogging stroller had her sights set on the loaf as well. Lucky for me, my stroller, with my one baby is a lot smaller and faster.
While driving back home, all I could think of was the bread – how I was going to have it for lunch, should I eat just a part of the baguette or eat the whole thing (it’s not that big), butter or no butter, sandwich or soup. Yeah, lunch was gonna be a good one.
After a mediocre few hours of
wasting time doing asinine Google searches for no reason at all performing valuable research on highchairs (because feeding a baby while they roll around the floor is proving to be inefficient), Susan Powter (c’mon – you know you’re curious about what she’s been up to) and Yasmine Bleeth (married a strip club owner – I’m not judging), I was ready to eat. Baguette – here I come!
As I entered the kitchen, giggling and utter glee waylaid my snacking mission. Peering outside, I saw the 7-year-old and Carl being swarmed by seagulls. It was like something out of The Birds. I guess the 7-year-old would be Rod Taylor and Carl would be Tippi Hedren.