There is a battle going on in my house. There was no official declaration of war. Let me take you back. I cooked last week. (I know it’s shocking!) After dinner the family rested their weary heads on the plush pillows on our couch. It was a lot of work lifting the forks to their mouths. I, on the other hand, was clearing the table, washing dishes and sweeping the floor. (I know it’s shocking!) I was about to throw out leftover peas when my husband shouted as if preventing a murder “Stop!” I was confused. “Stop what?” He insisted he will eat the peas tomorrow. Look, this isn’t my first rodeo. I knew exactly what would happen. Unless it’s deep fried or covered in cheese leftovers go uneaten. I would have to scrape the crusted green slime from the rim of the bowl. Nope, he insisted. Days have gone by and while most of the food in the refrigerator needs to be replenished the peas remain. My husband won’t admit I was right. I’m not cleaning that damn bowl.
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