First of all, if I didn't get around to reading and commenting at your place during the last couple of days, it was because I was too wimpy-sick. Computer time was at a minimum. My throat looks like moles have dug little holes all in it and sprayed red graffiti all over it. And you know me, I never exaggerate for effect or sympathy. OK, this is Dramatic Prairie Dog, not a mole, but I wanted you to get the full effect of animals burrowing into my soft tissue and holding a barbecue.
Random bullet #1: Have you noticed on Sitemeter that there are "girly" ads at the top and sides of the page now? What's up with that?
And it's always the same three girls. Looks like those three would've found somebody by now, poor little lonely things. They obviously need mentors, like Aunt Eller in Oklahoma, who fixed Laurey's picnic basket for the social which finally went for $42.31! Now that's power! But no, they insist on bein' Ado Annies. Tarts!
Random bullet #2: I found an English lit book in the black hole also known as Lost and Found in my office at work. I looked for the owner's name, but instead, this note fell out: "Do you smell my dress from where you're sitting? I got it at the rummage sale and haven't washed it yet. Gross. I know." Yep. And terribly funny.
Random bullet #3: Even though I felt like moles had planted lit cherry bombs in the holes that they bore into my throat, I fixed a HAM for my family Saturday.
For those of you who are fairly new here, I should state that I have an antagonistic relationship with ham and ham. This is really unfortunate because my youngest child loves ham. When she was little, she would eat bucket loads of the little ham cubes at salad bars. Her delight in ham knows no bounds. Her favorite sandwich is at Great Stake and Potato: "Ham Explosion," which cracks me up. I have enough near-ham-explosions right in my own kitchen, let alone pay one to explode. But, my daughter, she loves the ham.
So I was determined to prepare this one as fast and furious as I could before I coughed or collapsed on it, because wouldn't that just be my luck, to keel over on a ham and have the toothpick holding the pineapple ring poke my heart and kill me. It would almost be poetic.
This time, the only mishap was that I completely sliced my finger on the lid of the pineapple can, which might not appear to be ham-related at all, but knowing devious hams like I do, I totally know that somehow the evil ham caused the cut.
So, if you take into account hot flashes and finger cuts, you could say I poured my blood, sweat and tears into that ham.
And ladies and gentlemen, the crowd went wild! And then I collapsed.