Morphing Into Martha
Last night—as JD and I walked Polo—I came up with a great, new idea. I felt like Einstein or Pasteur…that’s how smart I felt.
Sooo, what if I, like, try to make dinner every night! I looked at JD with raised eyebrows and a neon smile. We spend a lot of dining out (I always joke that the only thing I make for dinner is reservations!), so in attempts to reclaim my domestic title (or, ahem, try to stake claim at such a title), I decided to be all Martha Stewartish this week. Sans the folded sweaters around my neck, of course.
Late last night we ventured into the grocery store quipped with recipes and a grocery list. JD stuck to the list, but I started pulling things off the shelves like I was planning for Y3K. When we arrived to the canned goods section, I neatly arranged tomato sauce in our cart. JD shook his head and insisted we had tomato sauce. Nonsense! One can never have enough tomato sauce! We went back and forth about the red sauce and we compromised in getting two cans.
When we left the grocery store, I’m pretty sure we dipped into our 401K to pay for it all. Who knew eating in was so expensive?! As we unloaded our groceries, JD told me to look in our pantry. Lo and behold, there stood 23 glorious cans of tomato sauce. What is my problem?! I honestly think I have OCD because not only am I obsessed with tomato sauce, I have a thing for canned beans and spaghetti sauce. Seriously, I could probably feed 40 Italian men at a moment’s notice! Chef Boyardee ain’t got nothin’ on me.
I just got off the phone with JD. Ironically—even though I could make an all-things tomato dish—I asked if we could go to Chipotle for dinner. Because, you know, I need a little more time morphing into Martha.
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