I know what you’re thinking…pervert.

My sweet husband volunteered to bring the sausage for his company’s pancake charity breakfast.  All 200 non-pre-cooked links of them.  We’re a meat loving family, so it was really no surprise that he chose that item to donate.  I don’t know if his co-workers know what the process involved with cooking all those teeny little wieners entails.

He was cooking those things last night for roughly two hours.  He had three burners going, and I convinced him to throw some in the oven, too, like the back of the box suggested, to make the work go faster.  He was hesitant, but I implored him to believe that Bob Evans has been around for a while and would not lead him astray.

I was puttering around the house, aimlessly really, because my husband is pretty fantastic and we usually spend most of our time hanging out together, so I was feeling a bit useless.  I think he sensed it because he gave me a job.  I got to roll a pan of sausages around for him for a bit.  He really liked the color of them, and was hoping for a bit of crispness to them.  Isn’t that nice?  It’s like 10 PM, he had a long day at work, a long night of weeding, a frustrating night with one of our boys, and here he is, making sure that his sausages are perfect for his coworkers.

I leave the room, and when I come back in, I notice a dead sausage lying on the floor. All alone in the shadow of our double oven.  I admit, it didn’t quite process at first what it was.  I had to stare for a few seconds.  I picked it up and asked: “Honey, you missing something?”  He looked at it, and I could tell, he was a bit flabbergasted.  He had NO idea how that happened.  It made me giggle, a lot.

I sat down at our breakfast nook and surfed the web for a bit, and listened to the sounds of him cooking the rest of the sausage, the sounds of him burning his hand on the burner he forgot to turn off, and the sound of a few more sausages hitting the floor, and I kept it together, I really did.  I made my lip bleed from biting it, but I kept it together.

The house smelled really good, but now as I’m sitting here at the same breakfast nook, I’m looking out the window into the backyard, I see one, two, three, four cats.  Looking at me.  I’m used to a cat or two here and there peeking at the two koi in our tiny pond, but this is creepy.  Like Pet Sematary creepy.  Over to the right are ten squirrels, chasing each other around, not unusual, but I can feel their tiny little squirrel eyes on me.  They think they’re being subtle, but I know better.

Oh crap, one has on a lobster bib, and I think I see a fork.  Well, sweetie, if you’re reading this, if you don’t hear from me today, be careful when you walk in the door.  We might have been attacked and eaten by the forest creatures of the area, who were enticed by the delicious, delicious smell of 200 Bob Evans sausages.  Well, make that 196, since 4 committed suicide to the floor last night.

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