Madhousewife: Argh, I hate when this happens.

Sugar Daddy: When what happens?

Mad: The steam fogged up my glasses.

SD: Well, if you weren’t such a nerd, you wouldn’t have to wear glasses.

Mad: That’s true.


I went grocery shopping today, and because I didn’t feel like making myself lunch when I got home, I picked up a sub sandwich from the grocery store deli. It was not a good sandwich. It was so not-good that I only ate about half of it, and that was mostly out of moral obligation. I could have made a better sandwich myself. I know what you’re thinking: Isn’t it always better when you make the sandwich yourself? But no. Generally I prefer sandwiches made by others. Just not this one.

And to make up for how not-good that sandwich was, I ate half a can of Pringles.

I bought the Pringles a couple weeks ago because they were on sale. I’ve been hiding them in the garage because they’re for me and not anyone else. I might have deigned to share them with my husband at some point, but he’s been on a diet since January, so I don’t have to worry about sharing any food with him these days. He’s lost 20 pounds, incidentally. He looks great. But he’s kind of a bummer to eat with.

Fortunately, I don’t require companionship for my meals.

Tonight it’s just me and the kids for dinner. I’m dithering between hot dogs and fish sticks. I’m in more of a fish stick frame of mind myself, but Girlfriend explicitly requested hot dogs the other day and, well, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who really likes fish sticks. And I do. I like them very much. I think I might be the only person I know who likes them at all, let alone very much. My children tolerate them. Elvis eats them with ketchup. *shudder* I could seriously eat a whole box by myself. I don’t, of course. I hardly ever have them, because they’re terrible for you. But they were also on sale, so what was I supposed to do?

The hot dogs were on sale, too, but they’re the all-beef kind, so they were still expensive. Is it just me, or have all-beef hot dogs gotten really, really expensive? Is there a scarcity of bovine odds & ends these days? I don’t want to think about it.

I’m back on the fish sticks again. I was just thinking that it’s Lent now, yesterday being Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday always does creep up on me. And there’s no reason why it shouldn’t, since Mormons don’t observe Lent, so why should we care when Ash Wednesday is? I just like to know these things, that’s all. I’ve always had a lot of Catholic friends. I just seem to gravitate toward Catholics, for some reason. I went to a Baptist college and immediately fell in with the Catholic sub-populace. (There was no Mormon sub-populace. Well, there was, but it was me.) The cafeteria served fish every Friday during Lent. Not fish sticks, but actual fish. I don’t think I have ever known a Catholic who liked fish, and certainly not one who liked fish sticks. But they served fish in the cafeteria during Lent anyway.

My mother didn’t serve a lot of fish when we were growing up, aside from the occasional fish stick. Fish can be tricky to prepare. Also, expensive. Unless you’re talking about tuna from a can, which my mother served plenty of. She made tuna casserole sometimes, but more often she made this tuna-and-gravy-over-biscuits thing, which–I know, you just threw up a little in your mouth, didn’t you? But I don’t remember it being disgusting. Not that I’m aching to be transported back in time so I can consume that meal once again; I’m sort of afraid to. But I recall it being quite edible (unlike some sandwiches I’ve had).

I don’t really count tuna-from-a-can in the fish category. I mean, clearly it’s fish, but it’s also clearly from a can, so that has to mean something.

I’m going to move away from food and talk briefly about books. Not good books, just books. I just finished a romance novel. Not even a serial-killer romance novel, which you know is my new favorite genre, but just a straight-up romance novel. I may as well name names, as long as I’m confessing things. It was The Sweetest Thing by Barbara Freethy. I got it for cheap on the Kindle. It’s a cheap book to begin with, but I got it on the extra-cheap on account of it being February. (I also got a Kurt Vonnegut book for cheap on account of it being February, so I’m not sure there’s a romance/Valentine’s Day angle here–but I haven’t read the Vonnegut book yet, so who knows?) I am not usually so impulsive with books that I have to buy, even when they’re cheap, but every so often I get in a mood. It sounded cute, so I got it and I read it.

Okay, so it was cute for the first few chapters. You know me; I’m not picky. The set up is that there’s this guy, Alex Carrigan (yeah, I know, “Carrigan”–are there any romance novel heroes that don’t have rich white boy soap opera names?), who’s a successful entrepreneur (because unsuccessful entrepreneurs are called “deadbeats”) who has never known true love. Ha ha. No, really, he hasn’t. He has abandonment issues. His grandfather, who has recently come to live with him, insists that it’s because their family is cursed because fifty years ago he (the grandfather) and his true love broke some ancient Native American pottery and some spirits were released and she got freaked out and left him. No Carrigan has known true love since! Don’t snicker. The spirits are real. We know they’re real because Faith, the friendly neighborhood baker, touched the broken pot and she felt the spirits, too. She knows she will not be able to rest until she helps Grandpa Carrigan find his true love. Alex can’t believe she’s indulging the old man’s delusions. He also can’t believe he’s falling for this sentimental loony bird just because she has red hair and green eyes and beautiful, beautiful breasts. (I know, I couldn’t believe it, either.)

Did I mention that Alex has a long-lost daughter who shows up on his doorstep after her mother dies? The mother had told Alex that he wasn’t the father of her baby, but she told the daughter that he was. Apparently there was no need for paternity testing back in the day. Whatever. That’s also part of the story. I know you don’t believe me that it started out cute, but it really did. Or maybe I just wanted to believe that because it was February and love was in the air along with cheap Kindle books. If tree falls in the forest, etc., etc. Or, you know, insert appropriate aphorism here. Anyway. It started out cute. Then as the story went on it started to seem less cute and more sort of dumb. Then it became less sort-of dumb and more completely dumb. And then I was almost finished and thinking, “How dumb is it, really, when I’m reading the whole thing? And not just because I paid for it but because I want to know what happens, even though I should know already that Grandpa will be reunited with his true love and Alex and Faith will get married and Jessie will really be his daughter even if there is no paternity test?” Also, “What kind of name is ‘Barbara Freethy’? Could you really write anything but romance novels with a name like ‘Barbara Freethy’? Is that even her real name? But who would make up a name like that?” You’d be amazed at all the different things I can think while reading. I’m a great multi-tasker. Sometimes.

Anyway. I finished it. I don’t feel good about myself, but I’m blogging about it. I’m owning it. It’s like when I ate half a box of fish sticks by myself the other week. (I don’t have them often, but these were in the freezer already, from the last time I bought them when they were on sale.) That was not a good idea. I could have told myself from the outset that it was not a good idea. But it was what I wanted at the time. And now it’s done. If I could go back in time and change the past, it’s not the first place I’d go, you know? That’s my way of saying that I guess I might have liked that book in spite of myself and its dumbness.

And now I’m going to let my daughter play PBS Kids while I have some yogurt because that is another thing women like. Romance and yogurt. It’s February, suckahs!