Dulce de Leche

When you can’t get off the couch, when anything but a horizontal position sends shooting pains to your feet and knees, when you are so angry about the pain that you get up, sure that you are better, and proven wrong, need to be carried back to bed by your boyfriend, when this happens, there’s not much do to.

You could start up your laptop and check and re-check all your favorite food blogs, hoping beyond reason that they will all create new posts every hour upon the hour so that you have something new to read. You could have your boyfriend bring you all your cookbooks, surround yourself with them on the couch, drop glistening tears on the shiny pages which tease and taunt you with their lovely recipes that require standing, and good health, and therefore you cannot make. You could watch the Food Network and “Guy’s Big Bite” until you want to pluck every bleached blond hair from his ridiculous head. Then perhaps Barefoot Contessa will come on, and your boyfriend could walk in on you in the living room, your face tear-streaked and a whimpering smile on your face, and you could explain to him that the love between Ina and Jeffrey holds no bounds. You could go uninhibitedly mad.

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