veg4kidnapped

Today our house went on the market, so as soon as the For Sale sign was hammered into the ground I announced to Mistah Checka (who was preoccupied with his thesis) "T-minus 45 minutes and counting!"

He looked up from his desk with a quizzical expression and I clarified by saying "I am kidnapping you! For lunch!"

Ahh, after weeks of prepping the house for sneaky, nosey, non-preapproved for a mortgage folks that are soon to descend upon us, I was in need of some bakery therapy. My hands were practically worn down to a nub after painting every floor board in the house, but I was able to wrap my hands around a veggie sandwich with cheddar, avocado, lettuce, tomato, sprouts and jicama. Fire roasted tomato soup topped with tortilla strips and sour cream sat steaming at my side.

The food was so good I was able to overlook the complete lack of ice at the soda dispenser. It was also so good that I lost my common sense because as soon as Mistah Checka finished his BBQ roast beef panini we walked up the block to the market. I meant to just pick up some snacks for our upcoming trip this weekend. Dried apple slices, check. Date nut stick thingies, check.

Next thing I know my overstuffed brain is thinking we should pick up some items for dinner tonight. Mistah Checka has been a tad bit overworked between opening our pool, washing the windows, making numerous runs to the storage unit while working on his thesis and upcoming Monday morning presentation in California. I thought I would be a good wife (why? WHY?!?!) and make a nice dinner.

As soon as we drove up to the house with the paper bags full of groceries it hit me.

I don't want to cook in this house! This house is for sale! Strangers could be stopping by at any moment to see how spotlessly we live.

Here's the thing. We don't live spotlessly. More like hopelessly.

As I explained to our realtor this morning "This is my house, not a museum". And then I showed her my pantry but neglected to tell her I spent 2 hours cleaning it. I'd rather she think you could always eat off my pantry floor...and you could, but it would probably be a piece of kibble that fell out of the dog food container.

After the kids got home from school today I wanted to make some cookies with them. Cookies are easy. They can get popped in the oven. They smell yummy. They make people want to buy houses.

Only if you don't put two sticks of butter on top of your preheating oven so they can "soften"...all over the black shiny surface that your husband polished that very morning.

Only if you use the correct size bowl so that when you turn on the beaters brown sugar and melted butter don't fly all over the the island counter you wiped down that morning in order to take MLS photos.

It took me so long to clean up the mess that before long it was time to start dinner.

The phone rang half way through prepping and it was my mother in law. Even though I did just take her to an Oscar Night party I wasn't going to miss a chance to show her what a great wife I was to her son.

"Oh sorry, I can't talk for long! I've got oatmeal/raisin/butterscotch cookies in the oven and I am steaming artichokes, boiling potatoes, cooking corn on the cob and simmering some veggie ground beef and also some veggie chicken strips!"

(See, I told you I bought too much stuff at the market)

After I hung up with her it was time to bring out the carnivore's food. I took the butcher paper package of bison out of the fridge and did a double take.

I swore I saw "Fresh Guts" printed all over the paper. That wasn't the case, but it wouldn't have been far from the truth.

I melted the butter and squeezed the lemon juice for the artichoke and hoped that it wouldn't spill all over the table just before someone rang the doorbell.

Tomorrow night we are eating out. And the night after that and the night after that. I can't handle the stress.

I hope we sell our house soon. I'd hate for all the profits to go towards paying back the food portion of our credit card statement after eating our for every meal.

Screw being a good wife. Screw being a good daughter in law. I'd rather be a good customer.