Because this will never be the blog you read only to feel ashamed that you have yet again failed to painstakingly hand-craft a papier-mache montage of the birth of Baby Jesus using organic free-range cage-free chicken or whatever.
It came upon a midnight clear - or around that hour last night, in my case, when I realized that part of hosting my very first Christmas ever might involve feeding those we're hosting.
I know, right? Believe me, I was surprised too. And so, behold tonight's Pretty homework, which looms instead of the Christmas shopping
Oh holy Hellish night, whose idea was hosting Christmas again? Mine, you say?
Don't remind me - unless you have ideas for side dishes to match a festive beef brisket, our Christmas day main course (as ordered/delivered by someone else, thank Santa), that is?
Would I jeopardize my Martha merit badge if I just ordered the food from my local overpriced fancy grocer, re-plated it, and called it mine? I won't tell if you don't, Scout's honor . . . will report back with the hopefully edible results either way.