B is for BBQ Sauce

Wait a cotton-picking minute! I don't NEED a letter in front of my post anymore!

*laughing like a maniac and running around the house in my gramma-style pink nightgown, with birdies in cages & drooling cats, and coffee spilled down the front*

I just dumped a practically full bottle of barbecue sauce down the sink. I feel so WASTEFUL and yet so HAPPY, all at the same confused time.

See, I don't waste stuff. Not generally, unless it's a vegetable and I buy it with good intentions and then let it rot in the fridge amidst guilt-juice and weight-mayo. But seriously, I'm old-school because, well, because I'm old, and maybe I didn't grow up in the Great Depression lucky to have any kind of food on the table at all and everyone ate turnips and bedbugs, and my parents didn't either, and my grandparents had money, but SURELY some poor schmuck in my lineage grew up eating bark, so if I buy something I don't like I generally suck-it-up-buttercup and eat it until it's done.

Hang on. I need to breathe.

OK. So. I bought some Bull's Eye Bold BBQ Sauce the other day because I needed BBQ sauce and I picked it up without realizing I HATED IT. Why do I keep doing this? Year after year I buy this crap because I've forgotten, over the long winter, that I detested it. Spring hits, I get a hankering to dig the barbecue out of the snowbank, and I wind up buying Bull's Eye again. Argh! Somebody smack me!

I didn't even realize it until the other night when I made absolutely delicious homemade hamburger patties and grilled them to perfection. I turned off the 'cue, covered the hamboigies with an inch of cheddar cheese, then smothered them with this BBQ sauce.

It absolutely ruined the boigies. I couldn't even eat mine. What a disappointment.

As I was cleaning up the supper mess, I automatically put the evil BBQ sauce back in the fridge. Y'know, as you do. But then I've been stressing about it ever since. This morning I was laying in bed thinking about it, having a conversation in my head with the BBQ sauce.

"You don't OWN me. You're not the boss of me! Why should you get free rent in my refrigerator? You dont' even taste good, for crying out loud. You DISGUST me. I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!"

And with that I jumped out of bed, well not exactly jumped, more like waddled, marched down the stairs, flung open the fridge door and snatched the offending bottle.

"TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY RAT," I hollered, as I opened the lid and dumped the brown goop down the garburator.

The sauce begged, I swear it cried, too, but I just laughed, HAHAHAHAHA, and shook the evil bottle and it glomped like The Blob down the drain.