Last night we were supposed to have black bean soup in bread bowls for dinner. Except after I sauteed the onions and bell peppers, chopped the chipotles, and assembled everything along with the dried beans in the slow-cooker, instead of turning the damn thing to HIGH I accidentally set it on WARM. You know, that setting that keeps your meal nice and toasty after it has cooked already. And then I went about my absentminded business and so, when Clint came home at 7pm from a long, frustrating day of work there was no dinner ready. BECAUSE THE DAMN BEANS WERE STILL AS HARD AS PEBBLES.
I am so epic.
Anyway, I was disgruntled and also sticky (hello, humidity!) and threw in the towel and we all got in the car and went to get a sandwich.
Clint has been having a lot of trouble with his shoulder, and will probably end up having surgery on it, but right now he's working through some physical therapy torture stuff and it was really bothering him last night. So he took one of the percoset they gave him before we left to go get our sandwiches. And apparently percoset really affects him, but we didn't know that. So by the time we got home, he was walking to the house with the dubious assistance of his arm across my shoulders, which delighted me and annoyed the shit out of him.
So I sent him to bed and brought him some water, and even though I failed at dinner and it seems like more often than not, it's that guy looking like a James Bond puppy-rescuer who is doing all the saving-the-day, there are some things I am best at.
Putting people in this house to bed is one of them.
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