Right.
So, I totally sent that to work with my husband this morning, as part of his lunch. Because what is love without forcing family to eat kitchen fails?
I...got a few texts about it. They started, though, with a spork.
HUSBAND: Can we just throw out all our surviving sporks already?
(answer: no. WHAT IF WE NEED A SPORK, THOUGH?)
ME: I didn't give you a spork today. In fact, I think I forgot to give you any utensils!
(Whoops. That happens sometimes. At least there was food?)
HUSBAND: Ah, good. Even no fork is better than a spork. There was one in there with the coffee. Maybe a long-term tenant of that compartment.
ME: Haha. Must be. Maybe I threw it in there forever ago for emergencies and forgot about it.
(SPORKS: for all your emergency utensil needs)
HUSBAND: What kind of pie is this supposed to be? Has a gray goop on it and an odd taste. I'm eating it cold. Better hot?
Or is it too a long-term tenant that I have overlooked for months?
(Welp, I guess it really is that bad, guys. Usually he likes my food, even the fails)
ME: No. I had some this afternoon. It's supposed to be a purple cream pie. It won't make you sick, but I tossed mine. Tastes weird. I must have messed it up.
(Ya think? Maybe a little? Also, it was NOT supposed to be a purple cream pie.)
HUSBAND: The crust is good. Ate the goop, too.
...
And there you have it. True love for you on a Friday afternoon.
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