Take a look at this.
Lord in heaven. “What IS that?” you ask. It’s meatloaf. And, as I’ve always known, it does in fact suck. Fortunately, I didn’t actually make this. That would have run counter to my raw meat aversion. Instead, I purchased it–for the hub–from a place I quite like. And to see if I was missing anything. I am not. The flavoring was good and it smelled great. Here’s the problem. It looks–and tastes–like cat food. There’s just no way around it.
The texture is the problem. And with exhibit A, above, the problem is compounded. This is actually a stuffed meatloaf–a freaky ill-begotten spawn of my other ack-attack food, turducken. Why would you take good ham, good cheese and pollute it inside a loaf of meat? I’m still a little nauseous thinking about this.
SECOND CONFIRMED OPINION: Baseballs/softballs hurt like hell when you catch them.
I learned this a long time ago. I’m not exactly a girly girl (okay, really, I am) but I do have an aversion to pain, in addition to raw meat. In sixth grade, I played one season of softball (ironically for The Cary News) and as a result of my ball-avoidance problem, the coach put me where the ball never goes (it’s either right or left field, I can never remember).
Anyway, it was a good bet. The ball only came to me once that season. Everyone was cheering for me to catch it, but I just stepped out of the way and let it drop to the ground. But instead of hitting the ground, it hit my thigh, and I cried like a baby. Not my finest moment.
ANYWAY, Tyler has baseball tryouts tomorrow and since the time hasn’t changed yet it would be dark before Jerry got home to throw him a few practice pitches. So I filled in. It was just as I remembered. You put a little heat behind that ball, even from an eight-year-old, and damn it hurts!
Me: Just roll it to me. Quit throwing it!
Tyler: Mom, just catch it!
Me: No!! It hurts!
Tyler: Quit jumping out of the way! You’re not even trying!
Me (jumping out of the way).
Tyler: Really, Mom?!!
Yes, really. It hurts. I am scared of catching baseballs and softballs even with a glove on. And, if I’m honest, I’m scared even when they’re just flying around. Frankly, volleyballs are no picnic either.
Anyway, I threw him the ball back and it clipped his right hand really hard and he started crying.
“I told you it hurt!” I said. “That’s why I get out of the way!”
And why I am not a good fill-in. Fingers crossed for tomorrow.