When I was a child, “leftovers” meant the unidentifiable frozen sludge freezer-burnt into the permanent ice shelf. One of the things CJ brought into our marriage was a habit of frequent leftovers, and I love it. Because as an adult, what “leftovers” means is super-fast preparation time and barely any dishes.
So here’s CJ’s lasagna – again.
I’m so happy I’m blurry.
And here’s Indah chilling out on CJ’s lap.
SUNDAY: The hot air balloon ride! Aieeee!
PS I just (moments ago) reached 10,000 words in my steampunk book. Emmeline Miller is on board her convict transport (the next chapter takes place in Australia), and has made a lower-class friend and an equally lower-class convict enemy. Having learnt plenty of new words from the former, she just called the latter a “sour-faced rusty-gutted mongrel” – among other things – and successfully beat him up with her Patent Steel-Ribbed Probability Parasol. It went fabulously – right up until the point he revealed that he knew her Terrible Secret.
OH NOSE!! WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?!?!?!