You know how you can slyly give your husband the hot dog that you accidentally dropped on the ground? And they happily eat it without ever knowing the difference? Because they're a guy? Well last weekend, the jig was up.
My mom let the cat out of the bag! Thanks a lot, MOM. Now I'm getting suspicious looks every time I put a plate in front of my husband.
He's all inspecting his food like Kara (who DEEPLY looks at every last bite of her food, just in case), and suddenly thinks he sees something, "A-HA! A hair!"
And so very patiently, I say, "No honey, that is just part of a zoodle."
And he's all, "WTF is a zoodle?"
And I'm all, "Oh just you wait. We are going to be having LOTS of zoodles! I found so many great recipes on Pinterest today!"
And he's like, "Fucking Pinterest..."
So speaking of hot dogs, we just had the first hot dogs of the season! It really felt like spring, and we were all so happy, except Brooke who was like, "I only like the blanket, not the pig."
And I was like, "Eat your damn hot dog, child."
OK, fine. I didn't say that. But only because I kept it in my heart. I was definitely thinking it.
I actually don't care if she eats the pig, because I just can't get involved in dinner time hassles. There were other things on her plate that she liked, so who cares if all she eats is the blanket, go for it, 4th kid.
Huh. This is some post. Zoodles and hot dogs. Oh well, it happens.