House of Subjugation

I thought it was over. I thought I would get my autumns back. I thought I would get my family back. I thought the days of falling victim to the annual hostile takeover of my TV by the National Football League were over.  

You see, as the season was nigh upon us, my husband, with the seemingly gallant charity of a knight in King Arthur's court, announced that finally, mercifully, we could let our cable subscription go and rely solely on the discriminating tastes of Netflix executives for our entertainment. Oh yes, there may be gnashing of teeth. Waiting months for new episodes of anything, adding Amazon Prime just for Downton Abbey, TLC marathon withdrawals, and more disappointments from the makers of Arrested Development.  But the freedom!  Oh, the sweet freedom from the unyielding tentacles of National Football League would be palpable.

And then, like a stranger in a desert who'd been offered a cup of water only to find that the cup was full of sand, I discovered that the Xbox 360 has a free downloadable ESPN app featuring live and on-demand sports coverage.  My husband is an evil genius.

But, as hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, I have thought of something eviler and geniuser. POISON! (with Brussels sprouts). I concocted a scheme to lure my husband into a false sense of bacon security, eventually manifesting itself into his most fearsome vegetable nightmare. ha. ha. ha. ha. hahahahahahahahHAHAHAHAHAH! And then he's dead.  (Not really dead-dead, just maybe a little gassy with a strange aftertaste in his mouth-dead).

When the time was right, I set out on a perilous journey of uncertain fate.

All I had on hand that pivotal day were petite Brussels sprouts from the frozen steamer package. This is as the universe designed, because now I think the larger variety would have given away too much by sticking out on the sides.  

First, I thawed the sprouts, then I started cutting them almost in half to provide space to stuff them with cheese or, as I like to call it, the "make any food taste better-er". I only cut a few because I wasn't sure how long the bacon was going to last since I intended to cover the sprouts--dorsal, ventral, and everywhere in between. And, just to let you know how diabolical I am, the bacon wasn't even regular bacon--nay! Indeed, it was bacon's evil cousin, the dreaded and feared turkey bacon. BWAH HAHAHAHA.

For 6 of the sprouts, I began the bacon wrapping process at this point.  To 6 other sprouts, I added a sliver of avocado.  To yet another 6 sprouts, I added slivers of jalapeno.  Once I had the ingredients that I wanted lining the innards of the sprouts, I encased them all in a bacon straitjacket, secured by a toothpick.  I sliced the bacon in half, both ways, wrapping like ribbon around a box-shaped present.  

Then, I popped them into the oven, and let the convection fans waft the bacon air through the house while I sat at the table, waiting, violent horror rap playing softly in the background.  

My husband came home to the alluring siren smells, and I knew by the hopeful look on his naive face that my plan was about to work.  

At dinnertime, I gave two of the sprouts to my three-year-old who immediately blanched at the sight of them. But I did not let this minor slight discourage me because the real target had just grabbed a plate with a focused, greedy look in his eye.  

I turned to finish feeding the baby and to hide my expecting face, and, after a few minutes, I looked back and found that all 16 of the remaining sprouts had disappeared, consumed by the man who had dedicated (in part) his life to besmirching them.  

But then, his feeding frenzy put to an end only by exhaustion and lack of supply, he turned to survey the disassembled sprout jackets on my daughter's plate.  A look of horror and regret began to creep across his features.  "Was there something healthy in those?"  

Revenge was mine!

If you have occasion to serve up some of your own vegetable revenge, or if you just like tasty food, please feel free to put the following recipe to your own uses:

Brussels Sprouts Roasted in Bacon

Ingredients:

18 Brussels sprouts (I used petite-sized, but any size will do)

4 slices of mozzarella cheese, torn into small pieces

1 lb (1 pkg) of regularly sliced bacon, cut in half lengthwise and widthwise

1 heart of stone

Optional 1 diced jalapeno

Optional ½ c diced avocado

Optional 1 muddied conscience

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.   
2. Carve an X into the stem side of each the Brussels sprouts.  Stuff desired amount of cheese, avocado, and jalapeno into the X. 
3. Lay two slices of the cut bacon on top of each other to create an X shape.   Place one stuffed sprout in the middle, and wrap both slices around the sprout.  Secure with a toothpick.  Continue with the remaining sprouts.
4. Place on a foil-lined baking sheet and roast in the oven for 20-30 minutes.  They are done when the bacon has crisped up a bit and has slightly browned around the edges. 
5. Salivate.  Devour.  Conquer your foes. 

Good luck!  I will leave you with the following transcript of the actual conversation that my husband and I had later that night.

H:    I'm disgusted with myself for eating those Brussels sprouts.

Me:  You should be disgusted with yourself for not having eaten Brussels sprouts up to this point in your life.

H:     I feel like my body's tainted now.

Me:  Maybe it's tainted because of the eleven pounds of ballpark nachos lodged in your colon.

Half-Marathons and Other Ideas for the Criminally Insane

I swear I almost entitled this post "Let's Find Out How Desperate I Am For Attention." 

A few weeks ago my much more athletic, much more beautiful, and overall better person of a cousin called me to ask whether I would join her in running a half-marathon this fall. To which I replied, "Half?  Why not full?", followed by overly boisterous laughter, followed by "Are you still there?"

I then launched into upbeat panic conversation with the sycophantic stylings of Alex P. Keaton at a republican national convention.  I must have hyperventilated and passed out along the way, because the phone conversation ended with an email confirmation of my registration into the race, including a full financial commitment, guaranteed by the remainder of my VISA credit balance.  $120.....just to prove that I'm a failure at sports and self-awareness.

So I found a novice training schedule developed by Hal Higdon, who apparently is well-known in the running-is-also-a-sport subculture that has recently infiltrated the permeable barrier of normal, comfortably sedentary human society.  I modified it ever so slightly to accommodate my work schedule and to stealthily implant a massage a week before the race.

The massage really needed to be written into the schedule so that, if questioned, I can say, with genuine honesty, to my husband, "Well, there's really no way around it; it's right there in the schedule."  

You see, honesty is really important in a marriage.  That, and a working knowledge of contract law.

On the days calling for "strength," I am doing this routine.

Or I could collect all my daughter's princess tiaras and just lift them.

On the days calling for cross-training, I'm riding the stationary bike or, as I call it, a half-hour of sweating within inches of another person who is also sweating while pretending the other person isn't there (which is how my two kids ended up here).  SNAP!  That's another thing that's really important in a marriage---bedroom humor.  I think my husband really appreciates all the laughter when the clothes come off.

I never worked out much on a stationary bike before, as evidenced by my recent discovery that there is something called a "recumbent bike" which is apparently designed for people who find sitting in an upright position too taxing.  Obviously, this was my bike of choice.  I found a 30-minute workout on SNAP Fitness's webpage that left me breathless.  

So, I finished the first week of the program on Saturday.  Based on the lingering burning sensation in my lungs and the beginnings of what I can only assume to be para-paralysis in my lower half, I'm thinking that it would be less pain and trouble to acquire a time machine and travel back to just before my cousin's phone call to go ahead and just bludgeon my legs with a sledgehammer.  Only time will tell.