After my half-hour grief-meltdown, I pulled myself together and decided to cook the chicken I bought the other day, following what I think is going to be a delicious weight-watchers recipe.
As the frozen fowl was soaking in a pot of hot water, my phone rang and on the other line was my beloved brother, whom I love almost as much as I love a good chicken recipe! Alright...I love him more than chicken.
We talked on the phone for a bit while I slowly, yet determinedly ingested a delicious glass of red wine.
Tonight’s not special. It’s just fun and relaxing, just like nighttime used to be. I feel really good.
How I wish I could return to this on a regular, less conditional basis.
As usual, drunk on half a glass o’ red. (not "drunk-as-usual", "drunk-on-half-a-glass" as usual)
Shneed.
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Oh, the bliss of being compared with frozen fowl 'neath the faucet! Words can't express the love I have for you either, Rob. Perhaps the kind of love that would compare with weather dampened socks in winter resting on a radiator. Yeah...that's what u are to me.
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