March 4, 2012: Gloating (With Apologies)

            It’s not sporting of me to point out that I have the nicest husband in the whole world. You might be someone who’s married to a douchebag, and here I am, gloating.

            When I’m sick, Tevye goes all Florence Nightingale on me. He’s made the sofa all cozy with a crapload of pillows, and bought me three kinds of cough drops and these weird Kleenexes that actually feel cold when you touch them. I’m certain whatever chemical they contain that allows for this chilly magic trick is giving me nose cancer.

He’s in the kitchen right now, brewing up some homemade chicken soup. Only since it’s Tevye, it’s a pureed soup made with onions he’s caramelized in imported sherry, and the chickens were hand-plucked identical twins he had flown in from B0tswana. Or something like that. You get the picture.

The bowl is Harkerware, in a pattern called Corinthian, from the 1930s. Like you care.

Thing I Hate Today: I can’t taste this damn soup.

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One Response

  1. I get all my chickens flown in from the Uncle-Shwana-from-Botswana Hen House.
    (my daughter improved the punctuation before allowing me to post this comment)

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