Yesterday was one of those days. Extremely busy in the office and we had a scheduled team building outing. We went bowling *crickets*. FYI, I am the worst bowler EVER.
So I called Mr. 1969 and told him that he needed to get dinner together. He assured me that he would take care of it. I asked him if he wanted me to bring home some snacks for him to watch the World Series…..nope.
So I walk in the house around 7:30pm. I smell food.
Now let me preface this next paragraph by saying that my husband DOES NOT cook. Well, he’s married to a woman that adores her kitchen, so he doesn’t really have to cook. Just like I never shovel snow or mow the lawn. We just have our things that we take care of. Cooking is mine.
So I smelled food and proceeded to walk into the kitchen.
I should have taken a picture. He was frying chicken wings. There was grease EVERYWHERE. There was flour EVERYWHERE. It looked like an explosion in the Kuwait desert. In a seperate bowl was a ton of some type of buffalo wing sauce. He was dunking his greasy wings in them and piling them high on a plate.
“Wow honey! You are doing it up in here huh?”
I slowly walked upstairs, took a shower, and came back down in my sweats and sat on the couch.
I didn’t return to the kichen for the rest of the night. Being married means knowing when to shut the hell up.
And hey, I tried one and his wings weren’t half bad. LOL
Congrats to the Phillies on winning Game 1.