The plan for today: work in the morning, take Mr. Annie to a (long) medical appointment, come home and reward him by making delicious fish tacos. I had wild-caught cod, tortillas, lettuce, Chihuahua cheese…the whole shebang.
What happened? I took Mr. Annie to the doctor, and during the appointment I developed a mammoth, astonishingly painful, death-dealing headache. After we came home, Mr. Annie took a well-deserved nap and I took lots of drugs. While I was waiting to become totally obliterated because I have a stash of Vicodin for the aspirin to work, Sam appeared with a friend to rifle through the kitchen and see what was available for a snack. I suggested that we had jerky, sweet potato chips, yogurt, crackers and peanut butter. Sam’s friend opined that they “had good snacks at his house, like vanilla wafer cookies and chocolate pudding.” They decided to go to his house and have a snack. On the way out, the friend advised me (in the most helpful way possible) that his mom shopped every Saturday and got lots of good things for his snacks and lunches. Needless to say, I tucked the idea away as a “must try.”
Post humiliation-by-adolescent, I decided to start the tacos. I opened the meat drawer and smelled…fish. Good fish doesn’t smell like fish. Five days was too long (I really am filing that one away for the future). The fish went out to the trash can, and I ordered hot wings.(Which were delicious, but they forgot the Blue Cheese dip).
I have disappointed wholesome youth seeking delicious after school snacks, and failed to use fish in a timely manner to delight the palate of my ailing husband. (Also, there was the Vicodin).
Better luck next time.