Sunday, October 04, 2009
Yesterday, Angry Husband pulled out some ground meat from the freezer and put it in the refrigerator to thaw out. We were going to make spaghetti for dinner. Angry Toddler was spending the night at my parents and we were just going to chill at home.
We got settled last night after I came home from work, and after he decompressed after a long day with the Angry Toddler. He pulled out the meat from the fridge and opened the package. He immediately said, "come here, you need to smell this, I don't think it's good." So I dragged myself to the kitchen. You would think it was far, but really it was five feet away. I agreed with him. We looked at the packaging and could not find a date/timeline on the meat. We decided to pull out another package from the freezer, and another, and another. I think we pulled out five packages of ground meat. We had stuff dated from June and July, and then there were the random dates like good until Thursday. Umm, which Thursday? Last Thursday? Thursday in May?
We pulled out the trash bag and dumped it all in there. He then pulled out a package of chicken. He says, "Julie, chicken thighs, really?" Heck, I don't know why I bought chicken thighs. I'm random sometimes.
But with all this bad meat, we were faced with a problem. You see, we live in a homeowner's association. The kind of association that drives around in golf carts stalking you for violations. One of the rules is no visible trash cans. With the way the entrance to our backyard is located, we have to keep our trash cans located in our garage. Just imagine the smell of bad meat in our garage. Our trash guy doesn't come till Thursday.
All of the sudden, I swear I got one of those cartoon lightbulbs over my head. I opened the garage. Angry Husband asked what I was doing. I was problem solving.
You see, we live near a park. A park that is policed daily by the HOA people in their golf carts. I promptly deposited our bag of bad meat in the trash can at the park, and ran back into my house. They clean the trash cans every day at the park. Can you imagine the smell that the meat would make in my garage? I passed a lady walking her dog on the way back. She was probably wondering why this barefoot girl was wandering in the park in her pajama bottoms in the dark. I didn't make eye contact.
We have a new rule that we came up with. When we buy meat now, we are going to write the date that we bought the meat on the package with a Sharpie. It will be easier to keep track of it then.