Car-be-cue
During the fall and winter, I start packing on the pounds like a hibernating bear. I swear - as soon as as the weather gets cooler, I migrate to the kitchen and start whipping up comfort foods and baked goods as though they're going out of style. (Like, have you tried my French onion soup recipe yet? DELICIOUSNESS.)
But this means that during the spring and summer, I have to take off said pounds. Which involves a lot less eating. Which makes me very unhappy, because I am a woman with the appetite of a man.
Okay ... a fat man.
Okay ... a ravenously hungry fat man.
Okay ... a ravenously hungry fat man who has the munchies at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
I don't know why I'm such an eater, but I've been this way for pretty much as long as I can remember. I know what I need to do - I once lost more than 100 pounds and have kept it off except for these pesky 20 pounds or so (check out the before and after, if you wanna) - but it's actually getting started doing it that sucks. So when I have to cut back, my body goes through, like, withdrawals. It's all, "Hey! Where are my cupcakes? ... Well can't you at least send some butter down?"
Mmmmm .... cupcakes and butterrrrrr.
Anyway, that's where I'm at lately: trying to eat sensibly. So I'm kind of like an obsessed dope fiend, attempting to keep my mind off of my "drug of choice." Which is why, when I started smelling delicious barbecue every time I sat in my van, I thought I was hallucinating or something. Every time I'd slide into the driver's seat, there it was: a smoky whiff of hickory. I even tried to cover it up by chewing some strong peppermint gum, but it just ended up smelling like someone threw some mint into a smoker.
I contemplated telling my husband that I was going crazy, but figured he would probably just agree.
This morning, though, I discovered that I might not be as crazy as I suspected. (Okay, maybe I am, just not because of the barbecue-fragranced hallucinations.) Because when I opened up the console in the center of my van, I found this:
Then it dawned on me. Like a week ago, my mom asked if I had any liquid smoke to use in a recipe, so I had taken it to her house. I don't remember putting it into the console for its return trip home, which is apparently why I forgot to take it out. It had toppled over and leaked, thereby converting my relatively unscented console into a haven of hickory essence.
It might be pretty delicious if it wasn't IN MY CAR.
I mean, it's a minivan. It almost always smells somewhat of stale French fries and Goldfish crackers and whatever else my kids squirrel away in the back floorboards, but hickory smoke? I half-expect a lumberjack to be sitting in my passenger seat, in all his bearded glory, holding a hearty rack of ribs.
... Which would actually be okay if ribs were on my diet.
... Mmmmm, riiiiiibs.
But this means that during the spring and summer, I have to take off said pounds. Which involves a lot less eating. Which makes me very unhappy, because I am a woman with the appetite of a man.
Okay ... a fat man.
Okay ... a ravenously hungry fat man.
Okay ... a ravenously hungry fat man who has the munchies at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
I don't know why I'm such an eater, but I've been this way for pretty much as long as I can remember. I know what I need to do - I once lost more than 100 pounds and have kept it off except for these pesky 20 pounds or so (check out the before and after, if you wanna) - but it's actually getting started doing it that sucks. So when I have to cut back, my body goes through, like, withdrawals. It's all, "Hey! Where are my cupcakes? ... Well can't you at least send some butter down?"
Mmmmm .... cupcakes and butterrrrrr.
Anyway, that's where I'm at lately: trying to eat sensibly. So I'm kind of like an obsessed dope fiend, attempting to keep my mind off of my "drug of choice." Which is why, when I started smelling delicious barbecue every time I sat in my van, I thought I was hallucinating or something. Every time I'd slide into the driver's seat, there it was: a smoky whiff of hickory. I even tried to cover it up by chewing some strong peppermint gum, but it just ended up smelling like someone threw some mint into a smoker.
I contemplated telling my husband that I was going crazy, but figured he would probably just agree.
This morning, though, I discovered that I might not be as crazy as I suspected. (Okay, maybe I am, just not because of the barbecue-fragranced hallucinations.) Because when I opened up the console in the center of my van, I found this:
Buy it at Colgin.com if perhaps you, too, would like your vehicle to smell like a brisket.
Then it dawned on me. Like a week ago, my mom asked if I had any liquid smoke to use in a recipe, so I had taken it to her house. I don't remember putting it into the console for its return trip home, which is apparently why I forgot to take it out. It had toppled over and leaked, thereby converting my relatively unscented console into a haven of hickory essence.
It might be pretty delicious if it wasn't IN MY CAR.
I mean, it's a minivan. It almost always smells somewhat of stale French fries and Goldfish crackers and whatever else my kids squirrel away in the back floorboards, but hickory smoke? I half-expect a lumberjack to be sitting in my passenger seat, in all his bearded glory, holding a hearty rack of ribs.
... Which would actually be okay if ribs were on my diet.
... Mmmmm, riiiiiibs.
I'm actually considering buying this. The thought of a bearded lumberjack in my passenger seat serving me baby back ribs makes my heart beat faster... And then I realized that it ACTUALLY would be rather creepy. Thanks for the laugh :) Austin
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