Pasta Hoarding.

pasta

In our house, there is a delicate balance between not having enough pasta, and having way too much pasta.
 
I’m not a list maker . . . Sort of a maverick when it comes to shopping. . . So at the grocery store, while staring at the rows of pasta, I try to remember if I was last angry because we didn’t have enough of the right kind of pasta, or angry because the supply of pasta was enough for the whole county.
 
When in doubt, buy pasta . . . Although it can lead to a cupboard that looks like this.

Ode To My Couch.

I was just nominated by Elle Superstar to write a poem with a lot of rules. It’s going to take me some time to complete that challenge, so in the meantime, here is a poem I wrote as sort of a warm up for the challenge:

Ode to my Couch

I love you, couch
You never mind if I slouch,

Nor seem to fret or much care,
If I sit in my underwear.

Your cracks hide the chips,
That fall from my lips.

Your cushions filter the gas,
That I sometimes must pass.

Like a baby in the womb,
Or a mummy in a tomb,

On you I can lay,
And nap in the day.

I love you couch.