Why Should I Do All the Work?

I got an e-mail from my sister-in-law the other day, telling me she has been reading my blog since May! I was surprised and happy to hear it.
She complimented me and Cranky for our food forays, and confessed that she liked Rachael Ray. In fact, she closed the e-mail like this:

P.S. I've been afraid to mention this to you because this is a very controversial subject, but just so you know, I LIKE RACHAEL RAY. I have recently discovered her (where have I been?), and I want to BE her.

Well, of course, I immediately sent her a link to Sam's roundup of Be Rachael Ray entries, from last August.
Then a day later I got another e-mail from my sister-in-law, which I am quoting directly (with her permission). I figure she's got a hilarious food-related anecdote or two, and no blog that I'm aware of, so I'm publishing my silly s-i-l and taking the day off myself.

I stayed up late to watch Rachael Ray on Jay Leno last night, and she was stupid. I think she was drunk. She kept mauling Jay. They made a dumb-looking pizza together with plain old hamburger on it. Phil was snoring through it, and when it was over, I was so jealous that he was already asleep and I was wide awake because I watched this. And to think I had actually cooked a Rachael Ray chicken dish for supper. It stunk; Cheyenne told me it was dry and asked me if I minded if she put ketchup on it. Nah, go ahead, but I might use ranch dressing, I told her. Phil, however, eats large quantities of any food at dinnertime, so he was good for four half boneless breasts, rice, and green beans.
One night a few months ago, Phil was a little late getting home from his energy-sapping kitchen installation job, and I knew he would be wicked hungry when he got home. I had bought him about a two-pound piece of cod for supper. He likes to just bake it in the oven with butter and herbs, whatever else there is to throw on it. I was in bed watching TV when he got home, so he started the fish when he walked in the door. Before I knew it, he was upstairs sitting on the bed with a plate of hot dogs (no buns) with mustard streamed all over them. It was a whole package he had zapped in the microwave. He ate them with his fingers in about a minute and a half. Then he went downstairs to tend to the fish, or so I thought. Nope, back upstairs again with a plate of scrambled eggs — one dozen — which were cooking while he ate the hot dogs. He mellowed out a bit and watched a little TV before he went back down for the two pounds of cod.
He doesn't eat all day, just nurses a large cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee (the Army way: three sugars, one cream. "Just SHOW the coffee the cream!"), so he is starved when he gets home.
He will never be fat, couldn't possibly weigh over 150 because of his high metabolism.

Unbelievable. But true. Thanks, s-i-l. You're welcome to drop by any time.