I'm Michelle, and you're on Thursday Night Smackdown, the only food blog named "Least Likely To Be Invited Back to the Book Club After That Incident With the Melon Baller." Do you like good food? Then stick around, loosen your belt and make yourself at home.
Dang, y’all are some picky motherfuckers! How I wish my mother were here to read your comments, so she could realize that LOTS of kids have food issues and I was not refusing the lentil soup just to spite her.
I am able to admit when I’m wrong. Granted, it tends to be difficult because I’m so out of practice, but it does happen sometimes. And once I get past the shortness of breath and tame my fight-or-flight response, I can own it.
Tuesday night insomnia: Sour, mineral tang of uncoated pills. Tepid tapwater washes it away. Soothing drone of informercials; snoring dogs. Counting rich mosaic of ceiling cracks.*
Did you think a little agonizing flank pain would keep me away from the Smackdown? WRONG. I powered through, in the form of having Brian do everything while I sat on the couch.
Interested in the exciting and lucrative life of the food blogger? Thinking about spending seventy-five bucks to learn how from the Institute of Culinary Education? I’ll help you out for the low price of $69.99.
I once played footsies with the left. I ended up with scuffed up shoes and a bruised shin, but still no affordable healthcare. (Sorry, I’m watching the Republican debate on CNN.)
I really need to keep a notebook next to the bed. As I’m falling asleep, I always come up with these fabulous insights, zingers and insightful zingers to share with you.