Silent But Deadly

I had a roast in the crockpot for about 9 1/2 hours yesterday. It was so large, I could barely fit any veggies in with it. But I managed to squeeze in some potatoes, carrots, onions & garlic. It was the most tender, juicy, delicious roast I have ever made. The Mr. declared it my best meal ever. Even the girls were consuming the yummy beef in a hasty fashion. We all kept blurting out tasty M's between each bite. 

"MMMmmmmm!!!!"

"mmMMMMMMmmmmm...."

"MMMMMMMM."

I just now opened up the roast leftovers from last night's meal to have for lunch today.

It smelled like farts. 

One crack of the fake tupperware &–WHOOSH!!–horrific vapors permeate the house. Do you ever notice how that happens with some of your leftovers? I can't be the only one who houses plastic bins full of flatulence in the fridge.

And yet, it doesn't really phase me at all. I'll still eat it. How can something smell so awful, yet taste like happiness in my belly? It's just one of those mysteries of life, I suppose. Along with: "How fat would you need to be to be bulletproof?" And: "How big is the average mole tunnel network?" (I actually found these "mysteries of life" while searching online. You can Google to find the long answer, or I can just tell you: Dangerously obese & 7,000 square meters.)

Excuse me while I heat up some noontime eats. I am ignoring the fact that it looks like a zombie has exploded inside my microwave. Who has time to clean appliances when you're busy cooking
for 9 1/2 hours?
♥