Domestic Goddess Fail

So, Hubs did not get home til almost nine, at which point I was comfortably ensconced on the couch  in a very big texting convo with one of my best friends, A.S.S. (those are real initials).

Me:  Tell your husband I am so impressed that he and Johnny Mercer went to the same high school! (Woodberry Forest for the curious)

A.S.S.: Who on earth is Johnny Mercer?

Me:  What!  Google him!  I can't believe you are from Georgia and don't know who Johnny Mercer is!  Moon River, Zip Dee Doo Dah, One for my Baby and One More for the Road?

A.S.S.:  OH NO WAY! he went to Woodberry & (her husband) didn't know that?  I'm shocked & feel. . .let down? 

A.S.S.: MMMMOOOOOOOOOONNN RIIIIIIIVVER!

Me: Watching his bio on Turner Classics right now, and wearing a UGA snuggie.  I am eighty years old.

A.S.S.:  O

A.S.S.:  M

A.S.S.:  G

A.S.S.:  And now we're watching it. 

So, due to a funny tummy and the ensuing inability to leave the couch, I had zero desire for dinner.  I made my self some scrambled eggs and toast- pitiful.  However, I made everything else, and all Hubs had to do was throw the marinaded pork chop on the grill.  The grill which was out of gas. He ordered pizza.  I am apparently not a domestic diva.  However, the Johnny Mercer bio is really interesting- it's produced by Clint Eastwood.  It makes me long for the era of big musical numbers, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.  Except for the whole Great Depression thing.