A couple of days ago, I made a pot roast for supper. I usually cook pot roasts in the crock pot, but this time, I cooked it in the oven. I figured I could cook dinner and heat the house at the same time (yeah, our oven is old and it leaks). We make do here in Maine.
Anyway, the roast was different, having been cooked in the oven. Better.
When I asked my husband if he liked it, he gave me a very enthusiastic "yes." He then went on to say that he hates how the potatoes taste when they come out of the crock pot. He said that it was much better this time because... and this is what he REALLY said,... "because the taste didn't make me want to vomit."
Gee, when I look back on my life and remember the loving things my husband said to me, I'm sure this one's going to be in the top five.
"Honey, how did you like the dinner I just made?"
"Great - because the taste didn't make me want to vomit!"
Ah - the love.
We did have a very long laugh about the whole thing, and I assured him that his response was, if nothing else, blog-worthy.
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