The checkout ladies at the local supermarket always seem to dispense the mindless chit-chat. Last night one rubbed me the wrong way. I was working from home and had a nice dinner planned. Then, I got a call from work and had to come in to do a couple things. Realizing that I wouldn't have time to come home and make dinner before the kids stomachs caved in, I went to plan B.
Plan B, involved picking up an 8-piece bucket of chicken from the supermarket, and serving it with the leftover Yukon Gold mashed potatoes I served the day before with my roast. Also, a nice salad would be served. Karissa is a hug fan of "chicken on the bone" and can shred a drumstick cleaner than a starving pirahna.
I get the chicken and get to the front of the checkout line, where the lady looks at me and says:
"Looks like it's your night to cook"
So many things I thought about saying back to her:
"Why is that? Do you assume that because I'm a man, I can't cook?"
"You have no idea the hell I go through on a daily basis!"
"Don't judge"
"I see the dental plan here is horrible or you'd have fixed those teeth"
But I said none of those, I just nodded and swiped my card.
1 comment:
Sometimes picking up dinner is the best way to go! That chicken looks good for some reason. I must be hungry.
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