Nothing reminds a gal that her cleaning skills aren’t quite up to par like coming across a ginormous squash on her cluttered kitchen counter. Well, you might think, squash are pretty common so I don’t get it. Here’s the thing: I haven’t bought squash in ages!!! This squash magically appeared like a fuzzy growth on leftovers. Cuppa in hand and pjs still on, I studied the large vegetable. As I pondered the state of the mess around me, hubby walked back in the house. “Um, do you know where this came from because I think it grew on our counter?!?” I asked as I held the giant yellow beast. “Oh, Tom sent that home with me. He grew it.” I was just relieved that my counter wasn’t so cruddy that it provided the right ph to grow vegetables. Moving on in my day, Al volunteered us to bring brats to the tailgate party after youngest sons’ football game. Brats and I are frenemies. Their yummy flavor tempts and taunts me but the greasy fat leaves me running for the bathroom and clutching my stomach. At the risk of being indelicate, I’ll continue this blog post but warn off the weak of heart. With my yahoo m.d., I’ve diagnosed myself with ibs. Fatty foods are a big trigger for me. Sausage can leave me curled in the floor in agony. My tummy is still hurting so spaghetti Saturday might morph into a get-it-yourself free for all. Maybe they can eat squash!