The Time I Smelled Like Meat

One of my resolutions for this year was to start saving money. After posting it for all the world to see, I had a number of people who offered up suggestions on how to do just that (thanks to you all!) My running buddy, Sunny, actually came to me after this and said she had the Dave Ramsey Financial Peace CD's. Her & her husband had really great success after taking the course a few years back but since moving and gaining new debt, they definitely could use a refresher. So, we opted that every Wednesday we’d meet at hers, mine or Emilie’s house to listen to the CDs, eat food & basically gossip “as hens do” according to our husbands.

Cluck.

This last Wednesday it was at my home which meant, it was my turn to cook for the bunch of us (6 adults, 2 toddlers and one adorable 6 month old), and because we meet after work – we all try and do something fairly easy. I’m trying to eat healthier (per my Forever Fitness goals) so my initial inclination was Cauliflower Pizza (I’ll actually do a recipe for this soon, it was fantastic) that I tried out last week. But then I thought, well, if no one else likes it then I look like a douche. Nobody likes being a douche. Not even douches.

I decided to go with beef fajitas. I figure I could just throw the meat on a salad, and BOOM, healthy-fied. (I know, lame, but I’m really trying to give this eating healthy a solid go.)

I didn’t have all the necessaries for this sitting in my fridge at the house, so I had to stop at the grocery store. Because I commute every day to work (about 30 minutes) and I have to pick up Lillie, going after work was not really an option.

Also, the grocery store at 5pm is bum-fucking stupid. Ain’t nobody got time for dat.

I decided to go on my lunch break telling myself I would just throw any items that needed to be refrigerated in our community fridge for the office with a giant pink post-it that said, “BACK OFF BITCH.”

Just kidding. I would never call someone a bitch for stealing my food. I’d call them a cunt.

I made it to the store and miraculously found a parking spot, so I threw my fajita meat in my giant duffel bag purse so I wasn’t walking around campus with grocery sacks looking like a damn fool. It seemed smart at the time.

Somehow, I managed to forget during the two minutes it took me to walk to the office from my truck that I did, indeed, have fajita meat in my purse. So, there it sat. In my purse. By my desk. Smelling delicious, I assume. I say assume because I had apparently become so accustomed to the smell since it had been with me for the past 3 hours that I simply did not remove it from my purse.

At 5 o’clock as I headed out the office down to the restroom to do some very impeetant business. While sitting on my throne, I opened up my purse to grab my keys and it hit me. That glorious smell of seasoned beef (sorry non-meat eating friends, but it truly is glorious) wafted into my nostrils and into my heart. I shook my head as I zipped my purse back up and went to wash my hands.

There was a girl who was also washing her hands. And as she walked to the towels to dry them, she turned to me and said,

“I love your perfume. It smells great.”

And that, my friends, is the time I smelled like meat.