I opened the fridge this morning to get out the items needed to make my husband a couple of turkey sandwiches, only to be greeted by a pleasant aroma -- sweet yet spiced -- and a dreadful sight. Somehow, a bottle of expensive balsamic vinegar got tipped over in the door storage area where we keep our many condiments and whiled away the time it spent languishing on its side by drip, drip dripping all over the bottles and jars on the shelves below it.
I don't even need to tell you that the balsamic vinegar was on the highest shelf, right?
Or that balsamic vinegar, when enjoyed on a salad as a dressing or on a grilled chicken breast, pork chop or sirloin as a marinade is a delightful treat for the taste buds, but is a sticky, nasty mess when it is sploshed all over the pickle jars?
Or that finding such a mess at 6:45 a.m., pre-caffeine, sucks the life right out of me and makes me do things that would shame my mother, such as gently closing the door on the mess and sneaking away, saying, with the passionate conviction of Scarlett O'Hara, "I'll worry about this later on. When the girls are awake. So that they can clean it up instead of me."
I plan to refer to this as "Home Ec." I'm counting on you to back me.
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