Sometimes I feel like things are made especially for me.
Take and bake pizza with hair on it, insanely under-cooked burgers from the fast food joint down the street, burgers with hair on them (all be them fully cooked), a bean in a thing when I specifically asked for no beans…(that one seems like it’s not a big deal, but then you must not know my feelings on beans…)
My husband jokes that if there’s something weird/disgusting/awful going on with food, it will find its way to me.
I don’t think it’s very funny, of course, but it seems to ring true just about every time I eat outside of our house.
Anyway, this whole week, my husband has been on his vacation and while we’re nowhere near Seattle like we were last year, our weather has been cloudy and rainy and cool and it feels exactly like it felt when I fell in real-life love with Washington and I’m happy and sad all at the same time because I’m an enigma, I guess.
And while that has absolutely nothing to do with food, I’d like to think that this week’s weather was made especially for me.
And that sorta trumps last night’s chicken bone in my quesadilla.