Oh For Crying Out Loud

Not so long ago I told you about my cooking challenges.  This is something that I’m not proud of necessarily, but I still don’t care enough about my shortcoming to do much about it.

Tonight, My Honey seemed especially beat.  I could tell, because when I got home from work, he was sound asleep and the children and the dog were running amok.  I took it upon myself to make dinner.  I expect some sort of reward, by the way.

I deviated ever so slightly from my normal routine of spaghetti.  I am very proud to tell you that I made ravioli.  I’m really branching out, huh?  Anyway, I was just tickled with myself.  I remembered to put the garlic bread in the oven.  I even remembered to take it out before I set off the smoke detectors.  I made a lovely garden salad and even chopped up onions to put in my husband’s because he loves them so.  I set the table – with ALL of the appropriate silverware.  I remembered to get everyone a beverage.  This is significant because usually the drinks are forgotten altogether. 

I sent my darling Bandit off to rouse his father while I dished up the food.  I was damned near gloating because I pulled the whole thing off without a hitch.

And then I realized I never made any sauce.  Damn it!