The Spouse Thingy is on call on Christmas, which means instead of going elsewhere to celebrate with family, we’re staying home to celebrate with each other. And the Boy. And the cat. This is not a bad thing, it’s just a change in plans … and with it came the realization that there had been no plans in place for Christmas dinner.
The Spouse Thingy pointed out the obvious yesterday: “We need to get the stuff so we can fix Christmas dinner.”
Ok, I’m paraphrasing. But I’m amused by the royal “we” there when we both know there was a question there. “So…are you cooking Saturday or not?”
This isn’t to suggest he wouldn’t help. However, between the fact that the kitchen is too small for two people to be in there, much less two people working, it’s not like he’s ever made a turkey and noodles and stuffing. So we both know who will be doing the cooking, and who will be doing the eating.
If he has his way, it’s the cat who will doing the eating. He discovered the grocery bag with the turkey breast in it, and immediately shoved his head in and began to lick the wrapper. Now, if he’s in the kitchen when I open the refrigerator door, he sits there and stares lovingly at it. The little furball knows what that thing is, and he’s just waiting for me to cook it for him.
Yes, the little furball is a typical male.
But yes, cook I will on Saturday. And keep your fingers crossed that it doesn’t all turn out like this years ThumpaFudge™.