So The Boy and I are reading Laurie Notaro.
She makes me happy. Not just for her admission of leaving lipstick on teeth during a date, but also because self-deprecating humor is ALWAYS good for me...if I can relate. And she does her very best, which turns into her best at disclosure. I'm pretty sure I could confide in her pubic sideburns, and she would not just accept, but go a step further and admit the things I was in NO WISE going to admit to...except she said it.
And it's true.
She makes the hunt for panties on a bedroom floor at least realistic, if not commonplace, and warns those huns who don't think 1:00 a.m. an acceptable time to, bleary-eyed, toast the chef.
A bleary-eyed chef accolade happened to me less than a week ago.
Doesn't matter what they are preparing and serving; a chef knows what is going on, and where he/she stands in the world. A chef is not afraid of letting someone else make suggestions.
The Boy and I are reading 'The Soul of a Chef." I confess. All I am focusing on is the ways in which I can let him down; despite a tremendously auspicious beginning, I can't do it.
I really can't.
Nope. Not kidding.
I mean it really, seriously, means I can't do it.