So, you might remember how I decided to stop cursing a while back. (Fine. It was a mere five days ago.) For the first few seconds little bit, it went absolutely swimmingly. Then I got a little irked about how slow my PC was running. I might have said a word that rhymed with Brother Tucker, but that’s aside from the point here. (And also? I totally convinced myself that I really did say Brother Tucker.)

My deal with myself was that if I gave up cuss words, I could justify serving my family Hamburger Helper for dinner. I mean, who wants to be around someone who’s perfect, for goodness’ sake? Cooking and not swearing? That’s saintly, my poppies. And a saint I ain’t. (But I’m a poet, and I know it. Yes, I’m eight. Shush, you giggled, too.)

So tonight, I did penance by making Bobby’s Goulash. Surprisingly, there was not even a pat of butter or a dollop of sour cream in the recipe. I was almost afraid that the Pod People had pilfered Paula. (I am so juvenile.)

This stuff was pretty danged good. It almost made me want to say a cuss word or two just so I’d “have” to make it again. Fortunately, Paula’s “six servings” and my family’s “six servings” are worlds apart, so we have a lot of leftovers. Mmmmm. I’m pretty sure I might have earned an extra swear or two tonight even.