I don't always like to eat. But I'm often mad.
I like food. I love reading about food.
Cranky likes to eat. If it weren't for Cranky, I might not be fed some days.
Truly, I love Cranky. He knows that.
But sometimes I hate how Cranky eats. Fast. Messy. Lots of.
So.
How do I eat? Once in a while, not at all.
Occasionally in small doll dishes.
I'll feel better soon.
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8 comments:
We have little doll-sized salt dishes at the store that remind me of you. Or rather, I could see you serving three bean chili in one. (One actual bean per bean variety.)
When you come visit (yes that's a when, not an if) we'll pick up a couple of those dishes and have a lovely little non-meal meal while the boys pig out. Chopper prefers his Fast/Messy/Lots of with a side of PBR in a can. Hope that's not too too horrifying.
(What am I saying. Of course it's horrifying.)
PS: I'd send you get well vibes, but that's just so so, well, you know.
PPS: I still owe you a package. I'm a slowby. Life this week is chaos. See, here I am procrastinating.
PBR is not horrifying, it's American.
(I'm much weller, BTW. Just avoiding the camera, because I think it's fritzy and I want to prove it to the camera store...)
you're lucky you have Cranky to feed you some days.
CC,
I like to eat. I love to cook. And I don't know how Miz D finds time to procrastinate.
Y'know. Sometimes you can't stand the way they breathe. And you wish they would stop.
Fortunately, this feeling passes.
Men: Can't live with them, can't kill 'em. Whaddya gonna do?
Cranky made a spectacular corned beef hash again today for lunch, all by himself. The best real food I've had since I caught a cold.
Mmmmmm ... hash. As for killing men, it can be done. There's just that pesky thing about having to possible serve time in jail. And can you imagine what the food in jail is like? Ick!
Is this you poem for poetry month?
I like it.
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