Perhaps I went too far yesterday with my post about The Pan.
(1) Maybe I’m the only one who thinks this crazy way about cookware as investments linked to real estate. Likely, I’m the wife with the worst cleanup skills.
As Olivia walked me through some kitchen features on moving day (reader, meet Olivia, Mr. Fresh’s former spouse. Yes, it’s all amicable. Yes, this is the house they lived in for 20 years) she cracked open a drawer and said, “Oh, and here’s The Pan that came with the oven, it’s here if you want, but I’ll take this other one since it’s the one I’ve always used...”
(2) I told him the gist of the Pan post (I published it nearly a week after the fight) and he thought it was a cute idea. He insists he doesn't read this blog, or worry what I might say about him.
Tonight he brought home a supermarket rotisserie chicken and I think it gave me food poisoning.
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