We’re having leftover meatloaf for supper tonight. At least, I am. Come to think of it, nobody else ate it when it was fresh out of the oven, either.

I make good meatloaf, dagnabbit*. It’s GOOD. Why doesn’t anybody else like it? Wildlife won’t even touch it.

Actually, my brother always liked it but he moved to Idaho. I don’t like to think it was to get away from having to pretend to like my meatloaf because nobody else did and he’s too sweet to hurt my feelings; I’m pretty sure it was that great job he was offered, because he really is a sweet guy. At least, he got sweet after he grew up. Actually, my brother was always really, really nice, and I’m sure that phase where he and Tumorless used to torture tease me whenever I brought a boy or any other friend home was a passing thing.

Anyway, it’s cold here and a nice oven meal would hit the spot. Maybe a baked potato to go with it, and a cookie.

A cookie is always good. “Cookies” would be even better, but my numbers are up again. Sigh.

* this is what cranky old people say when they mean “dammit” but want to set a good example for the children