Well maybe my life isn't exactly like that. Plus I haven't been paying very much attention to Game of Thrones because whenever I do, I get the lyrics to "To Be With You" by Mr Big stuck on loop in my head and then Neil wants to leave me. He hasn't said it, but whenever I serenade him with it, I can see his eyes flash with tiny red hate-fires. So that's why Game of Thrones isn't a big deal around here. Plus you can't just serenade someone with To Be With You nice and quietly. You have to belt out the, "AHM THE Waaaaa-AH-OOooOOOOOOOOONNNNNE" part and you have to do your own back up vocals at least until you can train the 5 year old.
If they were dressed like The Clash, Neil would be all over me. ALL. OVER. ME.
|Eggs in jrrrs Y'all.|
The pickled eggs are fascinating. I've never actually had a pickled egg in my life. I've always looked at them, and they've looked at me and we've had an agreement that our lips would never touch. Eggs have lips, right? They have potential beaks which is pretty close. I don't want to find out. Anyhow, the agreement has been going swimmingly until I found a recipe for them and decided that it is time to test out whether my pickled egg truce was in vain. Plus I'm bored from all the winter and I don't know how to make hooch in the bathtub. Plus they might be awesome.
"They have to pickle for 3 more days", the recipe says. "Don't keep them for too long", it says.
It didn't say that my fridge would smell farty, though. THAT is something the recipe did not indicate. The preserved lemons I discussed last time made my house smell like a candy factory. The pickled egg smell has killed every last lovely lemon and licorice scented breeze in this whole house.
This version has Spanish subtitles. You're welcome. I have to go shake my lemons now. Literally.
* I plan to make my distant future grandchildren call me Memaw. I don't know why, stop asking questions. I'm too young to give sound answers.)