Thursday, January 19, 2012

Take My Ham and Walk With Me

Morning Readers,
     If I've learned anything from becoming a housewife, it's how to make do. Case in point, Husband's adoring my homemade toilet paper, and the babies love the playful rustle of the paper bag onesies I hot glue-gunned together in my free time. So, when the grocery money ran low, this week, Husband and I turned to the vacuum-sealed ham in the fridge. This particular ham was a gift, and quite large. After it was baked and carefully lathered with glaze (yes, that's possible), we set upon it like supermodels on the last cotton ball dipped in orange juice. The only problem is there's so much of the darn thing, I've had to come up with ways to use it up.

     Yesterday morning, I went down the list, calling everyone I knew. "Hello, do you have a ham? Would you like a ham? If you knew you were going to die today, would you be looking for some last ham?" I called my mom. "Do you need ham?"

     "Who is this?"  

     "Me."

     "You sell ham? I thought you'd decided to become a writer."

     "I am. Look. I've got a lot of ham. Would you like some?"

     "Nope. Got a lot of ham of our own to get rid of."

     "Seriously?"   

     "Yep. Wait...who is this again?"

     The ham was a tough sell. Seems no one wants a half-eaten ham, these days. Goodwill said there was no way they could re-package it, and hung up on me when I suggested they slip a piece into every shopping bag. Oh, and there was no way I could write it off my taxes, per the second person that hung up on me.

We'll see about that...

     The grocery store said they never take back half-masticated ham.

     The liqueur store was interested, but started asking questions like, "Why do you have two toddlers in a liqueur store, with a ham in your back pack?... at 10 a.m.?"

     Finally a promising lead at the library. Unfortunately, explaining to security why you're shoving ham into the book drop is embarrassing, and doesn't do anything for the flavor of the ham...The trip home smelled like Pride and Prejudice slow danced with Lord of the Flies.

     Not to be daunted, I spent the rest of the day coming up with other things to use the ham for. By the time Husband got home, I couldn't wait to tell him everything I'd done. "You look like a man who appreciates ham."

     "I do. I think I'll make a sandwich."

     I shook my head. "You can't. It's gone."

     "What?! How do you get rid of seven pounds of ham?"

     Hugging him, I said, "We're now the proud owners of eight sets of ham-based thank you cards, two ham place mats, and I put a lovely ham potpourri in your sock drawer."

     "What? Do you know what I'll smell like when I go to work?"

     "Envy. Just don't let anyone steal your socks. I don't have seven pounds of those."

What do you do with your leftovers?

Until Next Time, Readers!