After a quick scan of the freezer and pantry, all the while beads of cold sweat were forming on my forehead as panic started to take over (and the chirping turned to screeching), I realized there was nothing I could throw together quick enough that would pass as an acceptable meal. I lunged for the phone (picture slow-mo dive from pantry to counter top with the sound of my voice all low and stretched out Piiiiii....zzzzzz.....aaaa!) A few apple slices held them over until that joyful sound of the doorbell danced in our ears.
As they were throwing the cheese covered slices down their gullets, I savored my spinach and bacon slice of sunshine. Through a mouthful of pie, I managed to get out a muffled, "This is so good." My husband, who is gaga for bacon, could only nod emphatically in agreement. Bacon=happy hubby. Pizza=happy kids. Everyone wins. And I didn't have to cook! It made me want dance a bit, not a full on let-me-shake-my-groove-thing number, but more of a shuffle...with a funky twist.
In my house, no one would think a thing of it. There's usually someone dancing a little goofy two step, someone usually singing a made up song (or singing a non-made up song incorrectly, in which case it would be made up), and ALWAYS someone happy about the prospect of eating bacon...combined, it could translate in to something like this:
Although that singing, dancing someone may or may not be in their undies while showcasing said happiness.
Now see if you can get that catchy little diddy out of your head today. I dare ya!