You know how sometimes it's hard to understand or explain the small tics you have? Growing up, Mama often made baked beans. Well. Not just ANY dumb ole baked beans mind you; the Best-Ever Baked Beans. (not really. I actually hate baked beans.)
The recipe called for three cans of baked beans, and before opening each can, Mama would ceremonially rub the top of the can on her butt. I asked why at one point, and she said to remove the dust off the can so no dust contaminated what was inside.
Made sense to me. So I altered her recipe to read:
rub cans on butt. just in case you forget.
It wasn't until years later I realized I unconsciously do this every time I open a can. I have a chili recipe that calls for six cans of beans/tomatoes and I ceremoniously rub each can on my butt before opening. I two fist it: left hand, left cheek; right hand, right cheek. Repeat as necessary. Canned pineapple juice is especially difficult (two hands needed for the one can), but I make it work. If you would prefer a visual:
here is my mama rubbing a can of beans on her butt. it's for your own good so you don't eat pantry dust.
You know... it just occurred to me... I rub cans on my can... i.e., I rub food on my butt. Food people eat... hmm... *wheels turning* Maybe I should work on breaking that particular habit....
In other news, Tommy ordered a pork chop the other night at supper and got THIS:
that is some serious pig
Kind of a slow week, but Mr. Smith and I are off to Nashville tomorrow to go see Bon Jovi! I feel all a-flutter in a 17 Magazine "I think he likes me!" kinda way. For Mr. Smith's sake, I hope Mr. Jovi and I don't bump into each other at some honky-tonk post-show because I've known since I was 12 and was givin' love a bad name that we'd one day end up together. Forever. I'll let you know how that turns out for me later!
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