Words I texted tonight: “I found the missing potato!!!”
I was three-exclamation-points excited to find that missing potato, which has been MIA since before Thanksgiving.
If you’ve ever had a potato go bad in your house, you’ll know why it was so important to find it. A rotting potato = peee-ewwww. And then they start to decompose like a corpse, and turn mushy and squishy and I just really have enough smells to combat around Chez Bang Bang without yet another one thrown into the mix.
My potato was missing because see below:
He’s also the reason the tomato I had on the counter had teeny-tiny little vampire bite marks in it.
Maybe he’s a vegan, like my bad-ass plant eater friend The Hoff. I’d be happy to never put vegan cheese – also known as not-even-close-to-being cheese – in my mouth ever again. He’s welcome to it.