Cruising for a Culinary Tutor for Teste Tuesdays

Apparently I should not walk up to a good looking male stranger and ask which sign he is, if heaven is missing an angel, or if that is pork I smell. I also shouldn't waste time commenting on how large his boots are or tell him how much he will like having his face buried in my pillow, according to my two best friends.

No, Ida has made it clear that I don't have time for any of that frivolity. And Phyllis was laughing much too hard to not be in agreement. Instead of finding fun, I should be concentrating on finding somebody with the knowledge of Julia Child and the patience of Gandhi. Someone who can turn this klutz in the kitchen into a prince of the palate.

I am not surprised. It actually makes me laugh. They have been coming over here for months every Tuesday and eating whatever I put in font of them. My taste buds probably gave up years ago. I have always said that I eat to live, not live to eat.

OK guys, I promise to do something about it. Either I will make sure the cocktails are stronger or rotate Chinese, pizza and buckets of chicken on Tuesday evenings. Or even better yet, I could take your exact advice and enroll in a class!

Thanks for the honesty. My future husband thanks you also!