It is the day of days.
The day when SWMBO takes over the kitchen and prepares a feast.
After the last such day she vowed she would never do that again.
She said at her age and with her decades of self-imposed kitchen slavery she was done with it.
And yet.
And yet.
Here we are again.
This one is a little different.
As I have related, I made a dessert cake and a batch of dinner rolls.
But still there is the ham, the scalloped potatoes, the sweet potatoes, the relish plate, the deviled eggs.
So while she goes at it I will try to serve as her sous chef and her dishwasher and her errand boy.
But mostly I'll just try to stay out of her way.
After all, I have to rest from my labors.
Actually, that's my daily bask in the sun as I try to replicate George Hamilton's tan.
And contrary to belief, those are not horns protruding from my temples.
It's merely the back of the chair.
