This sandwich needs some ‘splainin. “Tropical” is one of those food words that can mean anything from, “it contains tropical ingredients,” to, “I made it while wearing a hula skirt.” This Tropical PB&J is solidly more of the former, mostly because I couldn’t get Sarah to wear the skirt.
You might be thinking that this is the product of a funny drunken story, but the truth is that we came up with these while we were sober. Which is just more evidence to support my theory that I may be more functional as an alcoholic.
Last weekend Sarah and I were escorted to Baltimore Veg Fest by my friend and proper vegan, Constance. (I hear you need to know a vegan to be admitted into vegan events.)
There are a few good things about having a back injury. One is that I have every excuse not to exercise. Another is that I have no shame about using whatever tools are in reach to make myself feel better. Including Sarah.
There’s a radio station in the DMV that plays Christmas music starting from the middle of November, and every year I make it my personal objective to fill all proximal airspace with as much snowball-throwing, jingle-belling, reindeer-abusing cheer as possible.