My Turn to Cook

My lovely significant other darlin light of my life called me at the bike shop late yesterday afternoon.  For some reason she called my cell phone.  For some unknown reason I actually had the damn thing in my possession.  Stars aligned and all the pieces and extraneous bullshit floating around the Universe settled into their proper nooks and crannies.  Once or maybe twice a lifetime this happens.

I was informed it was my turn to cook.   Damn.  Keith and I were going to enjoy some cooling refreshments before I headed home.  Oh well.  When it's my turn, its my turn.

I treat my turn to cook with the seriousness and focus it deserves.  After all, we need to eat to make it from one day to the next.  Because I only have a vague recollection of where the cooking utensils hide when not in use, I subcontract my cooking duties to folks more capable and ready with the culinary magic.  Why do it myself with all these experts around?

That's the problem.  Too many experts.  Who do I choose?  Fast food, Chinese, seafood, or that always works go to gastronomical delight, Pizza?

Well that was easy.  Willy's Ale Room was right on the way home.  They did a good job with pizza.  And if I had a two beer wait instead of the usual one beer wait, I was only 1.1 miles from my dooryard.  Hard to get in trouble in 1.1 miles.

The image has nothing to do with this post.  I ran into this fella/gal while finishing up the main panel corner.   Just thought I'd share.

Later...........................................