OK, it was a crazy week, my first back in school, and here it is Friday again. And, as you know, on Friday I often cook the one dinner the whole family eats: Roast Chicken. Only tonight, I was patting down my chicken and it flopped over to the side and it was very, very, disturbingly, baby-ish. So there I am thinking I'm cooking some chicken's baby and that baby probably didn't have a very good life and should I be eating chicken anyway and I wish my kids didn't like it so much so I could eat much less of it and, oh yes, do I want another baby?
Whether or not I want another baby, I'm not having one, but maybe I should become a vegetarian.