Dear Reader,
I write this to you for your own good. Heed my cautious warnings.
As you know, I am lured into savings like trailer-dwellers into a flea market. That's a lot. Do you know how I know? Because I live in a trailer and nothing warms my heart more than a plastic Jesus with the Ten Commandments written in Spanish. Any place with multi-colored cotton candy and every design conceivable on Zippos is a tropic resort in my mind.
Focus, Shonda. Your readers need you.
Okay, I know it's hard to resist a good deal and, normally, there's few bad things that result in a little extra jingle. However, no matter what you do, DO NOT BUY THE ECONOMY-SIZE SHISH-KA-BOB SKEWERS.
Strolling through the Sam's Club about a year ago, the package caught my eye.
1,000 little sticks for, like, $2.
That's what I spent on a measly 100 not long before that.
I couldn't pass this up. That's like (let me do the math in my head) 900 free. Just imagine how handy that would be if I needed to torture, I mean use "enhanced interrogation tactics," on Rowdy. In case you've never submitted to a totally accurate allergy test before, those little prickly sticks can inflict as much pain as a leather bull whip. Trust me, you'd rather sneeze.
Even though I only make shish-ka-bobs and tempura 12 times a year, at the most, I just couldn't walk away from this bargain. Throwing the skewers, which were in a clear bag as round as a Pringles can, into my basket, I envisioned all the grilled delights I would serve with my nearly endless supply of, well, supplies. I brought them home, stuck them in my cookbook basket and they've rested peacefully there until last month.
Almost magically, Rolan became an adventurous, strong-willed explorer on his second birthday. He is literally everywhere. He's like the wind, like the destructive, giggling wind.
As he was crawling over the kitchen counter (and don't you know that I just freakin' love that he's crawling on the counter), the industrial-size package of shish-ka-bob skewers caught his attention. While most folks see culinary materials, Rolan saw a stockpile of drumsticks. ONE THOUSAND LITTLE MUSIC MAKERS, PERFECT FOR HIS TINY HANDS. And, of course, the metal legs striking out from his high chair chime when the skewers are struck against them. With a powerful tug from his strong little arms, the plastic bag was torn and wooden skewers flew all over the floor. They rolled under the stove and whisked into the living room. They were everywhere!
So, when you stroll past the skewers at the savings club at a price that completely disorients your reasoning, just move past 'em. Leave 'em alone. Trust me, Readers, there's few things more painful than a wooden lance piercing the skin of your unsuspecting feet as you stumble to the coffee pot.
So, Reader, I pray you listen to my advice. I only want what's best for you
I Love You,
Shonda
PS-- Please ignore the messy, cluttered kitchen in the background. It's really not always that way. Well, that's a lie. It is always that way.
After the "E-trade Baby" commercials started airing, I would periodically hear from others that they believed my youngest Rolan looked like the darling little lad in the ads. Well, Rolan is of course cuter, but you know what I am saying. I guess I don't have the Dina Lohan kid-pimping gene or maybe we could ring the register on our cuter-than-expected kiddos.