Savannah and I had just come back from the shop and I asked if she or I were going to make the soup for supper. She, being rather exhausted, was on her way to a refreshing shower...and didn't exactly give any answer.
Of course, one could argue that I didn't give her time to answer the question.
I blurted out some nonsense like this: *in a normal voice* "I don't make very good soup..." *then in a mock horrified tone* "Ah...I've sealed my own fate!!"
Then I promptly clattered down the stairs to go take dominion of that area of my life called "Soup Making". I really am trying to show a little more initiative in the kitchen. Honestly, I'm 24 and I know how to cook, but I too frequently let someone else deal with it. I'm not talking about those days when I wander in circles because my brain is about as smart as a pile of cotton balls, but those days like today when I feel pretty good (if one ignores the low-grade Mollart's Meningitis that has been plaguing me on and off for close to two weeks now).
Now, the jury's out on the taste quality of that there pot of soup simmering on the stove. We haven't eaten yet....