My Stainless Steel Confession

It’s time.

I have a confession.  It’s slightly embarrassing, a tad stupid, quite humorous, and one of those things that will make you wonder, “This girl has a college degree?”

Why now, you ask?  Let me explain.

Several years ago, when my husband and I were dating (if you can call living together “dating”), we were enjoying life, pre-children.  We enjoyed going out with friends, hanging out on the Sunset Strip at places like Red Rock and the Rainbow, and enjoyed an occasional bottle of wine while playing darts in our kitchen.  Yes, the kitchen.  Believe it or not, we (along with our dog, Dino – may he rest in peace) lived in a semi-studio apartment, about 600 square feet, if that.  The kitchen served as a make-shift bar and my office.  Convenient, huh?

So… one night, we were playing darts (Pete was probably kicking my patooty as usual) when “stainless steel” was mentioned in conversation.  Note: a few glasses of wine had been consumed at this point. All of a sudden, it was like a bolt of lightening resonated through my entire being.  STAIN-less.  I get it!!  It doesn’t stain.  DUH.

Let me defend myself here by saying that I know how a stainless steel counter or a stainless steel stock pot should perform.  However, for some reason, my brain never extracted the “stain” from “stainless”.  Ridiculous, I know.  Laugh and enjoy.  I don’t mind.  Really.

So, why do I bring this up now, you ask?

The other night, James was a little restless (to say the least).  As a result, I spent most of the night consoling him while catching up on Season 4 of Californication, the Showtime series where David Duchovny plays Hank Moody, a very sex-driven writer.

The next day, I told Pete about my evening.  They say lightning never strikes twice in the same place, but…

If you need me to explain further, I don’t feel so bad.

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