The Day The Cinnamon Rolls Broke My Oven.
Our oven broke. Right after the cinnamon rolls. It just had too much. Can you blame it? Luckily, a nice man came and fixed it for me today. I’m glad Mr. How Sweet was at work so I didn’t have to hear the constant flow of expletives and obscenities while I wrote out the check. Which is a feat in itself, mind you, since I am from the internet generation and barely know how to fill a check out.
Anyway, oven is fixed, thank goodness. How else do you expect me to continue clogging your arteries?
I ran the dishwasher 4 times over the weekend. Unfortunately, that is probably the next thing to go. If that happens, I probably will stop cooking altogether.
We have this leaning tower of pots and pans in our cupboards. The number of times we want to throw them out the window each day is countless. But we use every single one. Every time I open the door, I envision a bigger kitchen. Every time Mr. How Sweet opens the door, he envisions living alone.
I am absolutely consumed with my love of mushrooms. I have an idea for you: go put an entire stick of butter in a skillet along with 2 cups of mushrooms. Then grill some bread and top it with the mushrooms. I re-made the dinner from last night so I can share it with you. It might possibly be better than it was last night. I am in love.
I’m currently watching 90210. Babyface is singing “When Can I See You Again.” I miss the 90s.
In an attempt to keep the house cleaner, I made a list of cleaning tasks. Then I scribbled my next hair appointment date on the paper too, then I accidentally threw it away. I haven’t cleaned a thing.
Tomorrow’s post is sponsored by my thighs.