I have a long version of this story, but I am exhausted after working 104 hours in the past 2 weeks. I wish I were exaggerating. And by “work”, I only mean salaried work for my job. That excludes all the general stuff I do to keep the household running, including cooking a homemade dinner a possible record-breaking five nights in a row and making sure everyone has clean underpants every day. And clean bath towels.
And, by the way, did you know Christmas is coming?
The short version of the story is this:
Tonight I was cooking dinner. Chocolate gravy and homemade biscuits and bacon. (It’s a Texas thing. Don’t be alarmed. I know it’s weird.) I’d finished the chocolate gravy and bacon and was about to dump the mixed-together biscuit dough onto the counter so I could knead it and cut out the biscuits.
And then I saw a . . . bug? A tiny black bug on my biscuit dough. What? How? Huh?
I removed the bug and peered closely at the dough–oh, look, this story is going from short to long–and there was another bug.
Then I decided my flour was contaminated with bugs, so I began to paw through the gigantic Costco-sized bag of flour I have (had!) and didn’t find any bugs, yet I knew there were bugs and my husband, who happened to stop by the kitchen, said, “Oh, I see one right there,” and then I dumped the dough into the gigantic bag of flour and took it to the trash can and threw it out.
My husband went to the grocery store and bought three cans of biscuits. Thanks, Pillsbury.
And that is the not-short version of bugs in the biscuits.
At least I noticed the bugs today before I did any Christmas baking tomorrow. Because–I’m not sure if you are aware of this–but Christmas is coming. Soon, I hear.