Here's To Silly!

Here's the conundrum: I love to cook. Like, a lot. I really love it. It's in my blood. However, I HATE (no, I don't suppose I HATE it, that is rather too strong of a word, I just feel completely incompetent at it, which leads to a certain disdain) planning regular meals, especially healthy ones (Yes, Ms. Woodward, I know that "ones" is not actually a word, but sometimes it's the only way to describe exactly what I'm saying [yes, I think almost that exact thought every time I use "ones," which is often]). When I was single, I didn't so much succumb to fast food (very often), but there was a lot of yogurt and graham crackers going on. Now I am married, which automatically turned me into a domestic goddess, of course. Right? Wait, wasn't that supposed to come in the mail with the marriage certificate, the domestic goddess certificate? Sigh. Mine must've gotten lost in transit. All I know is, I felt particularly proud of myself for not only cooking a delicious meal, but cooking it FOR ME when I was the only one home. It doesn't happen often folks, but it does happen.

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