Husband: "Don't you think it's time to go through your recipe folders?"
Referring to the ten stacks of manilla folders stuffed with recipes.
Me: "Oh, those? I'll get to them."
Husband: "Are you sure?"
Me: "One day."
If he was paid for everytime I spoke those two words. One. Day. The money would be surfacing, and resurfacing ten fold. Some people collect cards, collect rocks, or collect antiques. I collect recipes. My hands have become quite ambivelous when a magazine touches my fingers. Skim. Final pages. R-ipppp. Stuff into bag. There's a part of my mind that says,"I can cook this. Oooooo. That looks good. I'm going to try it."
I took the folders. They are spread out on my dirty, linoelum floor (as I write). They are being somewhat sorted. I did dissolve my folders by five recipes.
Ten minutes of sorting go by. My jaw was going to masticate through those pages. The bag of baby red potatoes on the floor are quite harangue, probably, vehemently opposing my newfound interest in this WL action plan with those healthy fruits. Oh, dear potatos, it is only for a month. Do you subconsciously converse with your food too?
It's dinner time. I'm eating spinach-something salad. The kids are eating scallop potatos. We all won, well, husband kind-of did.
