Due to our work schedules, Honey picks up the weekly groceries on his way home every Thursday and usually cooks if there’s supper to be had (not tonight) or he has to wait until 8pm minimum for me to get off work at 6:30, drive the 1/2 hour, and get it on the table an hour later. Every Thursday the emails start about noon and relay until around 4:30. Subject line is “grocery list.”
“We’re out of horseradish sauce. Don’t get that wimpy stuff.”
He didn’t get that wimpy stuff.
Hah … hah ….. CHOOO ! Whoa! Man! That’ll cure anything! Yikes! Give me a kleenex! (snort)-CHOO! I’m sweatin’! No sinus headaches tonight–no sinuses left. No pneumonia or roof of my mouth or eyeballs either.
You know, it wouldn’t break the bank if we tossed the horseradish from hades and replaced it with something not quite so nuclear. But, since we paid good money for it, we’re going to suffer through it. Good stewardship.
You okay? Yeah. You? Yeah.
That’s good horseradish. Num.