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TWTG Rides Again

I’m sheepishly, squeamishly, certainly sharing

I’ve had just about enough of your caring

My subjects, I’m sorry

Abruptly I fled, my head, oh my head

Slowly I’m dipping

My toe in the blog pool

Happily single – this girl ain’t no fool

Losing a lover, a friend and a partner

It hasn’t been easy

My art, my heart suffer

I’ll claw my way back

I’ll conquer the kitchen

Because we all know it’s me you’ve been missing


Stupid Cupid

You wouldn't break these hearts, would you?

It all makes sense! I’ve always been damaged goods, but in trying to unearth a relatable story about Valentine’s Day, I have a better understanding of how it began. Follow me on a journey back to junior high. Star wipe. I was short, round and awkward, with curls that couldn’t be straightened with a lightsaber and freckles that would make Howdy Doody scream, “look at that ginger fuck!” All I wanted was a boy (really, any boy… and that’s still my motto) to send me a singing telegram that the choir kids offered for their Valentine’s Day fundraiser. Alas, no song was sung. Not a “My Funny Valentine” nor a “You Are My Sunshine” for yours truly. Tearful sob.

Fast forward.

Oh noes! Looks what you did!

Twenty years of marriage and just as many wonderful Valentine’s Day memories made… divided by zero. Oh, I’ve had the flowers. And the chocolates. But I’ve never had the plan. I’ve never had that perfect day, so choreographed it almost looks spontaneous, with surprises and pink elephant balloons. I want my pink elephant balloons. Maybe this makes me sound self-centered. Maybe I can live with that. Either way it means Russell’s got his work cut out for him. You hear that, buddy? That’s the sound of you pulling miracles from places unaffected by sunlight. You wouldn’t want to end up, as my tiny bestie Autumn would say, in the casa de bow wow. I will sock you in the mouth, I’m deadly serious.

Now, in an effort to mend what that Saint Valentine prick has done to me, I offer unto you:

Broken Heart Biscuits & Andouille Sausage Gravy

Adding sausage to injury.

Before we begin, I do not claim authorship of the biscuits. Click here to capitalize on someone else’s foodie goodness. As for the gravy…

  • 1 batch Southern Buttermilk Biscuits
  • 1 lb (more or less) bulk andouille sausage
  • 2 tbsp butter
  • 4 tbsp flour
  • 2 cups milk
  • Splash of cream
  • 1/4 tsp ground black pepper
  • 1/4 tsp salt

Prepare biscuit dough as per recipe but instead of cutting into rounds, cut with a heart-shaped cookie cutter. Bake as instructed. While biscuits bake brown sausage in a skillet. Remove sausage from pan, leaving about 2 tablespoons drippings. Add butter and cook until melted. Add flour and whisk constantly for 2–3 minutes. Slowly whisk in milk until gravy begins to thicken. Add splash of cream, pepper, salt and cooked sausage. Stir to incorporate. Note: I generally make my gravy with bulk country style sausage, but my local Sprouts was fresh out so I used the andouille. It was spicy and a nice twist on a classic.

Place biscuits on plate and break in half. Top with gravy and serve to your sweetie as a warning of what could happen should they not fulfill your every fantasy.

Whereas I usually use this space for my closing thoughts, Russell wants to make sure I get one thing perfectly clear: Should anyone get the bright idea to make up for my wounded soul by sending a singing telegram (or pink elephant balloons) to my work, home or anywhere in between, that does NOT mean I will touch them or their extremities. Yes, I’m damaged goods. But, remember, you’re supposed to refuse those. I don’t know why Russell puts up with my shenanigans… he must be a weirdo.