I know some people may call me crazy, and I had to think long and hard before deciding to tell the world what I’ve done, but I think it’s time. Here goes.
I cooked a meatloaf.
I’ll admit it may have been a bit rash, but hear me out. I knew dinner time was coming and I enjoy eating meatloaf, so I threw caution to the wind, mixed the ingredients, and popped it in the oven for an hour at 350 degrees.
And I don’t care what anyone says, I’m not ashamed of what I did. Call it unorthodox. Call it reckless. Call it what you will. I cooked a meatloaf and there’s no shame in that.
In a small way, what I did actually gives me hope.
I understand there’s no quid pro quo involved, no implied tit for tat, but I hope that maybe, someday, if the situation were reversed and I play my cards right, the meatloaf will cook me too.