The one with the honey spaetzle that I literally couldNOT get into my belly fast enough?
Ummm….look what Mike brought back for me after his Thanksgiving weekend in Newport:
THE. Honey. Spaetzle.
I can’t even handle it. I didn’t even handle it. I ate it in three bites and then cried that it was over and wished I was a mother bird who could regurgitate her food.
WHAT?? That’s disgusting and weird.
And then we exploded a piece of chicken in the microwave.
I died. Literally. Died. On the floor of Trader Joe’s.
What the eff Trader Joe’s???? Are you TRYING to make me live inside your store?? #occupyTJs
There is a very real possibility that Mr. Trader Joe lives inside my brain and it kind of freaks me out.
Finally, I chopped off all my hair (think this) and have spent the past 48 hrs flipping/bouncing/poofing my new bob like a diva and/or bimbo. I don’t hate it.