Wednesday, November 24, 2004

It's Wednesday before Thanksgiving . . . again

The green beans are done and so are the Brussel Sprouts. (It wouldn't be Thanksgiving for me without Brussel Sprouts.) Field (blacked-eyed) peas are next, but I decided I deserved a break. The mountain of vegetables still to be cooked doesn't seem to be getting any smaller, but that's what it looks like every year until, suddenly, they're all gone. Instead, there's a new mountain but this one is made of plastic containers.

It's also that time of year when just about everything that was in the fridge gets tossed. No choice, or there won't be enough room for what has to go in.

Like the pies. Oh, they're not ones I bake because quite honestly, I'm "dough-challenged." I used to try, I tried for years until one Thanksgiving Da Kid walking in, almost got a faceful to dough in the face when I was heaving another useless glob out the door. (When I get really angry, I throw things.) So by my family's request, I just buy 'em now.

I also learned to buy just an apple pie because that's the only kind Hubby will eat.

I know I said pies. Plural. That's because part of what I've learned is that Da Kid will be bringing home several pumpkin pies: one from a neighbor who bakes one just for him, another one from his intended's family baked just for him, one from his job because every year one of the customers bakes one just for him . . .

Back to work. The vegetables are calling.

Later: Except for fixing the Stove Stop (dramatically throws back of hand to forehead) tomorrow, I'm done and so are the vegetables. I don't even remember what's inside of half of the plastic containers in the fridge. Except for the frozen field peas, all of the vegetables were fresh.

Now that I've spent all day cooking, I have no idea what we're going to have for dinner tonight nor do I care. I don't know if you're affected the same way, but after seeing so much food I'm not even hungry. I don't even want to think about food. Maybe later and if so, I suspect Hubby will call for a drive-by pizza . . . which come to think of it, is what he does every Wednesday-night-before-Thanksgiving.

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