And it was colder than shit in Chicago. So when I got home all freezing and exhausted late last night, I decided to make some broccoli and cheddar soup from a gourmet mix I got at my friendly neighborhood Jewel. Nothing like the wholesome goodness of soup to fix what ails you, right?
Apparently not until after you've cleaned up the gloppy mess that happens when the soup suddenly boils over onto the stovetop, the counter, the front of the oven and half the kitchen floor. ACK!
And once I got that mess cleaned up and I was pouring what was left of the soup into my bowl, a little glop of it splashed up and hit the back of my finger, raising a goose-egg-size blister that makes its presence known every time I tie my shoes, backslap my bitch or try to use a writing implement.
So much for soup's mystical curative powers.
Anyway, I finally had my bowl of warm cheesy goodness, and I plopped down in front of the TV to flip channels and eventually land on the train wreck they call Average Joe. And of course, I was immediately hooked. Our intrepid heroine was wise to cut the creepy Hispanic guy -- especially since he sobbed like a schoolgirl at the news. But if I were she, I would have definitely spent more time with the dreamy-yet-slightly-immature Evan Marriott lookalike. Woof!
