I talked Joel into cooking fried chicken last night. While cooking our delicious dinner, Joel accidentally turned the wrong burner on high heat. Cooking oil turned black and smoke rose through the air. The scent permeated my clothes… and soul.

This morning, I picked up the jeans I wore last night. They smelled like The Lazy Susan. It hurts my heart. It turns my stomach.

Will there ever be a time when the phrase, “Comfort Food” doesn’t make me uncomfortable? When fried chicken doesn’t make my head spin with worry?

My sister and daughter keep talking to me. I better put an end to this querulous post.

Word of the Day for Thursday December 22, 2005

querulous \KWER-uh-L.H.; -yuh\, adjective:
1. Apt to find fault; habitually complaining.
2. Expressing complaint; fretful; whining.