Scurrying

Not of mice feet,

My feet,

Fell asleep bout six pm,

Magically transported to midnight,

Scurried to the kitchen, fearing my boiled dinner was now mush,

No fear!

Cooking fear really is an option,

Life doesn’t imitate great movies with Jamie Lee Yummy Curtis and the past governor of Minnesota,

You know Arnold,

I smelt nothing,

I mean absolutely Nothing!

That’s not good!

After fiveish hours of cooking, one must need to snell something!

At sixty-five, trust me, I know what burn dehydrated smells like,

And baby, nothing is Not it!

Well what I with dollar store glasses supposed was hot was off,

The ham bone was done and spareribs when I lowered it into the water,

The chicken pasta, except for the pasta correction, including the pasta, all done except for my rock-hard still white three potatos,

So I corrected the setting on my lovely Hamilton Beach crock pot and replaced the lud,

Put ham bone on a plate,

Fished out the dry ingredients that comes with the pasta to give it the imagination of taste,

Put that on the floor,

My smart-ass cat Sophie, a grey calico, looked up at me and thought!

Mom, your kidding, right?

That plastic bowl is now sitting outside my door as an offering to the high priestest of non burnt offerings!

We had a some cheese,

I melted more on top of wheat thins tossed in taco sauce,

My supper,

When the potatoes are cooked, will go in the fridge rather,

Tomorrow at this time, 212 am, I hope to be on the road to the food bank,