We have a dog. Specifically, a boxer. Cute thing, that pup. But not when I slave away in the kitchen for 2 hours, only to find that when my back is turned, my entire afternoon's worth of work has been destroyed. I mean eaten.
I found a delicious recipe on Pinterest. I'm a sucker for buffalo wings, so this dinner excited me. However, it was a lot of preparation. After I finally finished making our meal and setting the table, my toddler wanted to make cupcakes (a very regular request). We had one egg (ONE EGG!) but needed three. So off we went to the next door neighbor's house to see if they had any we could borrow. When I came back, I noticed pieces of lettuce from the salad sprinkled across the table. I squinted my eyes and looked the table up and down, side to side. Upon further examination I found a cup knocked over. Then I saw it. The plate of delicious, gorgeous, homemade buffalo meatballs. GONE. My huge bowl of chinese cabbage salad, halfway eaten and destroyed. I felt like Ralphie's dad on A Christmas Story after the Bumpus hounds ate his precious Christmas turkey.
I was so mad I laughed. That was a sign it was really bad. I laughed like a lunatic in my kitchen after spanking my dog and subjecting her to solitary confinement until further notice. (Muahaha) But she'll have her revenge, that dog. All I know is that Frank's Hot Sauce probably doesn't feel as good going out as it did going in.
Sincerely,
Me. The if-it's-not-destroyed-by-fire-it's-destroyed-by-my-dog type of chef.
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