••• Friday, November 24, 2006

Skeye Candy 

Sorry. I'm flat out of fresh headings.

I took these pictures from my bedroom window the other day, right after I arrived home from the Pubes and 'Taters shoot. As usual, you'll get better results if you click-it big.

The Great Gravy Debacle of Aught Six
My Eye Candy shot today was going to be of the piece duh resistance from yesterday's dinner feast, the gravy. It was one of Martha's recipes. Turkey juice and roasted veggies, stirred constantly and simmered for upwards of 25 minutes, with a cup of wine and flour and 8 cups of water.

It made 7 cups of gravy. We consumed about 1 cup, maybe, at dinner. The rest was going to be tonight's dinner: Hot turkey sandwiches, with mashed potatoes, stuffing and, um, gravy.

That was until Cabana Boy threw the gravy away during cleanup. His explanation was that I hadn't put it in a storage container.

Maybe it was the fatigue. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was justified indignation. But when I found out my Baby the Gravy went down the drain, I went Bitchcakes on his ass.

I know. Perspective. I usually have it. But I didn't.

The tossing of the silky brown nectar, which I successfully nurtured under stressful conditions such as dinner already being over 1 hour late because I accidently reset the oven temp to 275 instead of 375 when the 400 setting smelled too hot and dinner guests hanging around the stove during the gravy groove, asking me questions like the square root of my grandmother's shoe size, both with and without the water retention, on a muggy Tuesday.

I guess I felt minimized. Like what the fuck, it was just gravy just sitting there. Or that I asked for it, somehow.

I know he didn't do it on purpose. He's a sweet, gentle man.

Anyway. I am so over it now. At peace, even.

Said calm set in almost immediately after the final swish of the garbage disposal upon the perfectly crunchy ass of his beloved leftover dressing.


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