Certain items require burying before consumption. Like this pig’s ear.
As I’m working, she starts editorializing. “Ha ha ha, you’re so funny, running your anachronistic behavioral software.” Oh, okay, Mrs. Darwin-with-no-bugs-in-her-applications, you screaming at the New York Yankees as though our tribe’s vanquishing of this other tribe wearing a different color uniform is vital in order for us to have food resources for the subsequent month. Perfectly rational.
It’s looking like my prayers for turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes tomorrow will be answered. The stakes are even higher as, if she goes all hermit and we don’t go out, it’ll not only be organic fucking tofu, we won’t get sent home with spectacular leftovers. Isn’t absence of perfect certainty bad for my health or something? I feel on the verge of a tension headache and acral lick.