Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Ain't No Party Like A Gravy Party, Cause A Gravy Party Don't Stop

"Always bike to a biscuits and gravy party. Your hips will thank you later."

Morning Readers,

People often ask, but, over the weekend, Husband and I were finally able to tally all the things that make us super cool:

3 Discussions about our favorite George Micheal songs and compiled playlist
1 Saved By the Bell unauthorized biography watched on Lifetime
2 cans of gravy

The gravy needs an explanation. First, I think it's extremely important to mention that, if your can opener happens to break and you get frustrated and throw it in the trash, necessity dictates you buy a new one. Otherwise, this is what happens.

"So you know how I was going to make breakfast for dinner in honor of Labor Day? Eggs, cheese, biscuits and gravy, all in the name of hard working people of this great nation?"

Husband nodded, clearly just as concerned with the fantasy football draft he was entrenched in as my dinner update and patriotism.

"Brace yourself, but I think I threw out the can opener and can't open the canned gravy I lovingly bought you and the children."

"No gravy?

"No gravy."

Now, Husband and I don't agree on everything in this life, but one thing that helps bind our souls together is a mutual love of biscuits and gravy. So much so, I can confidently say that, if we ever find ourselves in marriage counseling, it will have one hundred percent nothing to do with biscuits or gravy. He sprung into action.

"What are you doing?"

He opened a new tab on the laptop and nodded towards the screen. "Ok, there's no way we're not having gravy, so if anyone knows how to get those cans open, it'll be the internet. Hmm, this one looks good."

For the next few moments, we watched two Russians give us our options....

"First, no throw can opener away."
"Second, find nice, big piece of concrete."
"Third, take can and beat against concrete."
"Can open."

Honestly, I really liked Ivan Drago's plan. Simple, straight forward, only required a driveway. Just in case, we checked out any other options we had and assessed a plan of action. "It looks like we can either poke them with a spoon really hard or set them up on a date with the garage floor." Feeding off Husband's look of determination, I continued, "But I'll leave it to your discretion."

He grabbed both cans, a spoon and some optimism and set to work. I took a timeout from pulling biscuits out of an off-brand tube, intent on watching my love poke some Campbells repeatedly with a serving spoon.

"This isn't working."

I'd been so enthralled with watching Husband "tap, tap, tap" in somewhat of a futile effort, I hadn't realized a personal vendetta had begun to be forged in depths of his soul. "You headed to the garage?"

"This is useless."

"So we're not having gravy?"

"Oh, we're having gravy."


While I scrambled a dozen eggs, one for everyone and eight for myself, strange scraping sounds wafted from the garage, a true tribute to determination and a dinner with so many carbs, it pushed the bounds of propriety. Finally, steps thudded up the stairs and the door swung open. Two, empty cans were thrust threw the doorway. "Done."

I clapped my hands. "It's just like Christmas. And not just because we also have biscuits and gravy on Christmas."

Victoriously, Husband plopped the gravy in the pan and turned it on.

"I knew there was a reason I married you." Smiling, I set about popping biscuits into the oven and sprinkling cheese on eggs. "You're getting extra imitation sausage on your plate tonight!"

Labor Day dinner had been saved. It had only taken three Youtube videos, two Russians, and some concrete to make it happen. And if you're wondering, no, the gravy didn't taste like garage floor. It was delicious and the perfect precursor to the cheesecake decorated like an American flag I'd bought for desert.

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