Gag

I've become Susie homemaker. Saturday, I planned out a menu for the entire week I'd be home, and then listed all the ingredients that I needed that we didn't have. My parents took the list and went grocery shopping. Sunday night, I made Spaghetti. Monday, I made oven-baked Parmesan pork chops covered in fresh zucchini and yellow squash and then covered that with leftover spaghetti sauce and Parmesan cheese. I then made some garlic fettuccine Alfredo and a fresh salad to go on the side, and then I made french bread (using my bread maker, Timothy). For dessert, I made my blueberry crisp. They liked it. Tuesday, I went light and made white chicken chili. Today, I'm making venison curry with curry-flavored corn bread and a blueberry-raspberry crisp for dessert. Besides cooking, all I've done is clean. Clean and cook. Clean and cook. What did I tell you? Susie Homemaker. I've also done a fair bit of worrying about Leo. His lump has gotten bigger, but he's otherwise normal. He has a Vet's appointment on Friday. We've already had the discussion on how much we're going to do for him. Should we pay for an X-ray? What if he needs surgery? We can't pay for that. We won't pay for that. I don't think. Things were so much easier when I didn't have any part in the hard decision-making process. Now my parents look to me to decide what to do. I don't have any animal-medical experience, unless you count a strong stomach when it came to helping Dad debride one of Bonnie's festering and sometimes maggot-ridden sores. And they expect me to go with Leo and my Dad to the Vet, to discuss some of the possible diagnoses I've come across. I'm supposed to discuss Feline Leukemia (which I don't think it is), Hyperthyroidism, and Cushing's Syndrome. I don't want to go. If Dr. Westbrook tells us that Leo has some form of cancer and there's nothing we can do, I'll make a spectacle of myself with crying. Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now for something completely different. What kind of idiot calls a number looking for someone, and then gets the voice mail of the wrong person, and leaves a message anyway? This morning, someone called my phone, looking for a Tom something-or-other, got my voice mail that says my name - Jessica - and leaves this long-ass message anyway. Last week, someone did the same for a different person, and left this long message full of personal details. Hello! You're looking for Tom, you try this number, you get the voice mail of a person named Jessica, not Tom, and you leave a friggin' message anyway. Anyway, time to make some curry, if I can stop gagging from the venison. My Dad tells me to cut up the meat and boil it - to get rid of gristle and gaminess. So I get all bloody cutting up the raw, half-frozen venison that smells funny, put it in a pot with some salt, some garlic powder, and some Hot Madras Curry Powder, and I boil it. It smells like curry, but I can still smell that original gamey-funny smell, and it's making me gag. This is why I prefer to let other people cook the venison. My hands still smell bloody and gamey, after washing them several times. It's probably all in my head. Anyway, time to get cooking. Susie Homemaker to the rescue...