Several of my friends enjoy reading the Pioneer Woman's blog. I must say that while I don't usually search it out, I love reading the posts they forward to me. This evening as I cooked dinner, it occurred to me that I could, perhaps, be a pioneer woman.
If you were here, you would hear the drip, drip of milk on my keyboard. Milk that I've been stopping every few minutes and soaking my fingers in to try to counteract the intense burning sensation left after I seeded jalapenos from my garden. See? I'm just like a pioneer! I accidentally grew my own dangerously hot jalapenos and also drove to HEB to buy milk to soak my fingers in. They were accidental because I planted them last August, forgot about them, and just uncovered the plants to find lost of peppers ripe and ready. But that's neither here or there.
While at HEB I also bought a $6 bottle of wine which I opened all by myself. That's right, friends, I can open my own wine. It wasn't even screw top.
I had bacon wrapped, cream cheese stuffed jalapenos, corn on the cob, and seasoned steaks ready to go on the grill. I was feeling, dare I say it, domestic? Look out, Pioneer Woman, because the Mediocre Mommy is hot on your heels!
I went outside to light the grill, and just when I reached in to move the grates and strike up the heat, a mouse scurried out from under them.
And I screamed like a girl.
And I made Trey go outside to scare away the nasty mouse and light the grill.
Alas, now I must continue in my journey toward perfect Sunday night wifedom. My grill awaits, and I've waited sufficiently long enough for Trey to take over my cooking endeavors while I sit at the bar with my wine and good conversation (that's what usually happens, but not tonight, I guess).
That and there are now blisters forming on two of my fingers, and I can't type anymore.
Dear Pioneer Woman,
The title is all yours.