Seriously. There have been certain instances in my life that would have been greatly enhanced by a few carefully thought-out words written beneath them. Take, for example, the time I tried to rewire the thermostat in the downstairs hallway and short-circuited the fan in the air conditioning unit outside. Subtitle: If you don’t have a sense of humor, you probably don’t have any sense at all. Or the time I insisted I could change the oil in the car and ended up in the emergency room with eight stitches in my right hand. Subtitle: Should have gone to Jiffy Lube. Yep, there were just some things a twenty-first-century woman shouldn’t attempt without subtitles. In fact, there were some things a woman like me shouldn’t be allowed to attempt. . . at all. So why, then, did I agree to make all of the foods for Devin’s post-homecoming game party next weekend? Thirty high school boys and their dates? Was I crazy? I sifted through the bags of groceries with a sigh and attempted to put together a plan of action.
