I love my crock pot.
+ 2 morrow
I want to marry it and have its babies, and we will live happily ever after.
My absolute favorite thing in the world is to put something in the crock pot and walk away...forget about it, throw caution to the wind -- dump it like a nerdy band geek and never look back.
(Disclaimer: If you were in band, I am not associating this stereotype with you. You might have been a totally cool band person who would begin every conversation with, "One day at band camp..." And I would have hung on your every word and we would be BFFs and brush each other's hair and start our own club.)
Cooking with the crock pot is like going out with the dirty Harley Boy in college. You know it is rebellious, even cheating on your good and proper christian boy, but it is easy and fun. And you look so good doing it.
There is such a sense of satisfaction. I feel like I have cured venison and snapped green beans all day to provide a healthy home cooked meal for my family, but really I have cheated.
It is my soul, my very being..it is The Crock Pot.
Last night the temptation was more than I could handle. I pulled out the crock pot, hiding my guilt with my utter squeals of delight. I was putty in its hands. Chicken would be divinely roasted to its uttermost tenderness. It would be falling off the bone while my home yielded to the scent of Christmas morning. It would roast all night and I would surrender to its heavenly scents and be tantalized by dinner the next evening. Oh, the seduction had begun.
Off to bed I went. Faithfully at 5:30 AM, my middle spawn came in and covertly tried to snuggle into bed with me. I picked him up and carried him back to bed, and took a quick pee break. My bladder is not like it use to be. Indiana Jones rolled over to ask who was sick.
"Sick? Oh how sweet. My belly is a little rumbley and queasy, but I will be fine."
"Aren't you going to flush?"
"Flush? Well, no. We all know I never flush at night."
"That is gross."
"I just peed."
"Well, someone has diarrhea! Can't you smell that?"
We woke every child up in the house, changed their diapers/sheets, and hunted for this mysterious smell. We even checked our own sheets!
Soon, I loving looked over at my husband and realized what he was smelling.
"Baby, that is not sick fecal material you are smelling, it is tonight's dinner."
Oh, maybe my secret love affair with Bad Boy Crock Pot is not all its cracked up to be.