For three guys, Martha Stewart can't hold a candle to us. We have a fully decorated tree, a wreath up, a fully nativity scene, a gift or two under the tree(unwrapped of course), and Christmas tins. It may sound a little over the top but it feels more like Christmas this way, with a little hint of home. As if decorating wasn't enough, the place is pretty clean. I cooked pepperoni rolls and sausage balls. As one can imagine the comments were vulgar. Especially considering the both Poot and Skippy liked my "salty balls" and the sausage that I was handling. Poot proceeded to whip up some darn good chili and Skippy took the high road with some Toll House cookies, eating a couple in dough form but hooking us up with dessert none the less. Apparently spending several hours in the kitchen earned me bitch status and supposedly I will make for a good bitch for some woman later in life. The way I see it, I better get handy now, cause I don't see anyone lining up for the position at my side, any time soon.
Word from Poot this morning is he is sick. I draw the line on this one. Will I make a run to the store for drugs if need be? Probably. Will I throw them at him from a safe distance and quarantine his room? Yes.
Any smart remarks can be directed towards deez nuts...you know, the Planter's party mix sitting on the counter top.
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