That, my friends, is but a sampling of the amazing steaks we grilled over the Labor Day weekend.
Strips, filets and ribeyes graced my grill — and only one lonely steak was left after our group scarfed the whole lot.
That steak is coveted by my husband and he eyes me suspiciously every time I go near the fridge.
“Just getting milk for YOUR CHILDREN,” I have to say.
I won’t eat his precious steak. I promise.
Maybe.
In my alone time (which is rare) I debate whether it’s worth it to eat that steak myself and blame it on some apparition . . . or a zombie . . . or a steak burglar.
But in the end, it’s much easier for me to get another steak than to get another husband.
The one I have is one of a kind. And I’d like to keep him, thank you.
