First, they nixed smoking and subjected female spectators to purse searches. Now they’ve gone too far.
A new policy at NFL stadiums limits the size of purses to “small clutch bags” roughly the size of a cell phone! Anything more has to be carried in a large clear plastic bag, like the ones you use for sandwiches. How tacky.
Once upon a time I fancied myself a gourmet cook. I put paper booties on my crown roasts and added white truffle oil to my grits. I stuffed every vegetable I could find, thinking it couldn’t possibly taste good on its own.
Mine was a simple case of “cooking to impress” to cover my inherent inadequacies in the kitchen. The sad truth is, my southern mother never taught me to cook because I made such a mess in the kitchen. Still do.
Determined not to return to the grocery store until I use up stuff that’s not paying rent to live at my house, I plundered through the freezer today.
I had six bags of frozen spinach , a bag of flash frozen chicken breasts, and some other stuff I couldn’t identify. A long time lover of spinach, I decided to improvise, or I could set the spinach outside and watch the raccoons run for the hills. I decided to cook it up.
There is nothing still in working order in my home. The central heat went out last month – good riddance. I no longer have to worry about hot flashes.
This morning after I got out of my bath, I heard gurgling in my kitchen sink – clear across the house.
I have a new idea for a reality show which will be about as interesting and entertaining as any other reality show I’ve seen lately on the “boob” tube.
(Side note: Isn’t it ironic that once upon a time, we called the television the “Boob Tube,” never dreaming that by the 21st century, boobs would become the central focus of programming – and for general audiences no less!)