What’s wrong with your hands?

Okay, I cooked last night. Keep in mind I’m not domestic but I can hold it down, no problem.  We have leftovers but I wanted some garlic toast.  I sent the hubster out to grab a box.  I’m on the pc when he comes back.  I believe I asked him to throw it in the oven.  Minutes later he asks me if the food’s ready.  I’m like, “What you mean?  I was sitting here when you left and returned.  Haven’t moved yet, I cooked last night and asked you to do the bread.”  Why he’s like, “Oh Lord.”  Naw buddy, don’t pray now.  I cooked lassssssssssttttt night and didn’t plan on it today.  That food was fye too, might I add!  Just needed a little addition on the plate.  Nothing is wrong with your feet to walk to the car and in the store to purchase it.  And there’s absolutely nothing with your hands (since you used ’em to drive), to put that staff of life in the fully operable range, praise God it works.  So I’m thinking he’s gonna do it.  Nope, silly of me.  He ’bout to go get nuggets.  Ummmmm, I cooked last night sir, don’t play me.  See, this is how food gets tossed.  Sits in the fridge forgotten ’til 2 days or more flies bye (I don’t like leftovers pass 2 days) and that’s that.  Nope! Eat that pasta! God is great, he made provision for me to go to Walmart and be patient in those tedious lines.  Don’t play me…plz.

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