The cursed ants found our defrosting, costly grass-fed steak, even where we had hidden it in the microwave oven.Cheeky little stinkers - wouldn't you know they'd ignore everything in the kitchen except the high-priced beef?
Luckily, we found them in the nick of time. The formic acid lent a little piquancy to the meat - I revenged myself by grilling the steak, ants and all!
You go girl! Can 't keep a Navy Brat down. Ants - damn the pesky critters.
ReplyDeleteDrat blogger anyway - I am not anonymous.
ReplyDeleteAnonymous, Navy _junior_, please. All the other services are brats, but we are juniors!
ReplyDeleteNamasteNancy, aha, your identity revealed! :-)
Some of us weren't "juniors," a term far too decorous for the squad of punks I ran with. But we weren't brats, either.
ReplyDeleteWe were just Navy Kids.
Cookiecrumb, I can't claim that my gang of varlets had any more couth than yours but we did insist on the title!
ReplyDeleteSuper Couth Navy Brats (or Juniors) 4-ever! and hooray for steak (next time sans the ants). I am getting myself down the the Ferry Bldg to buy some good red meat. I've been on a chicken/tofu kick for the longest time but all this rain calls for something more assertive to build up the little red cells.
ReplyDeleteNamasteNancy, go get that red meat and _growl_ when you eat it! :-)
ReplyDelete