my hero power? frying. my weakness? okra.
Last night I totally failed at fried okra. My southern pride is crushed. I mean I’m hurting on the inside, y’all. I made it for Seth. I thought he would walk in the door and see me all hot over that stove top, oil popping everywhere, and be like – whoa she’s amazing, but you know what? He didn’t feel good, not hungry at all, so I made that whole bunch of awful fried okra just for myself, and I choked it down, too. My aunt Josie sent it home with me from Tennessee, and it just seemed wrong to not hurry about cutting it up and figuring out how to fry it. And don’t misunderstand. I know how to fry chicken and squash. Let me not mess around putting off airs that I can’t outcook your grandma at fried squash. What happened to my okra? I mean seriously, I need answers here.
The night was redeemed though. I know that most of you watch Dancing with the Stars, and that’s a shame, I tell you. Heroes, no kidding peoples, this is the best show since X-Files, and if you didn’t watch X-Files, or if you did and didn’t like it, please don’t tell me about it. I mean, my feelings are already hurting so badly about that okra.