Death by Cornbread

Sup, peeps. It’s been a minute. Shat’s been cray-cray.

For example, I almost killed my husband with cornbread yesterday. Didn’t think that was possible?  Me either. But he swears that’s what had him puking all night.

I think that the fact that a whole hour passed after he ate my cornbread before he upchucked his liver is a preeetty good indicator that he contracted a virus. But he begs to differ. And that’s ok. Agree to disagree.

“How did that Ebola outbreak start?”  No one knows. We found patient zero. All he knows is that he ate this cornbread. Ah, yes. Now it all makes sense.

To his point, the cornbread was horrid.  I wouldn’t even taste it.  It looked bad.  Target didn’t have the brand of cornmeal I usually use.  Note to self: next time go to Publix.

Good news: I’m off the hook!  This guy will NOT request I cook anything for a VERY long time. #winning.

Someone who is NOT winning: the guy who got impatient today in traffic. He was behind me while I was waiting to turn onto the super-busy Windward Pkwy at lunch. Apparently he didn’t appreciate my apprehension for cars driving in my direction.

So what did he do???  He got out of line, cut me off, and pushed his way onto the road cutting of oncoming traffic in the process.

The best part: when I passed him.  That made me feel great.  Very warm and fuzzy.  Like Karma gave me a big, squishy hug.

Something that didn’t make me feel great was a conversation I had with Bella over the weekend.  It went something like this:

Me: Bella, when you’re a famous movie star can I come visit you on set?
Bella: No, I don’t think that’s gonna happen for me.
Me: You don’t wanna be a movie star anymore?
Bella: Oh, I do.  But so did you and it didn’t work out so well for you, now, did it?

Baby girl always leaves me speechless.

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