One of the best things that I have ever done was get into the habit of buying tons of chicken breasts and ground beef at the beginning of the month and then cooking it all up and putting it in dinner sized portions in the freezer. It is probably the only reason that I actually cook at all. I recognize and feel an appropriate about of guilt over the fact that we eat said chicken and ground beef for nearly every meal. Oh well.
This evening I, of course, didn't want to fix dinner. I had some shredded chicken that needed to be fixed, and some hoggie buns that needed to be eaten and after perusing Pinterest for 30 minutes I decided to KISS and slap some Sweet Baby Rays on that chicken put it in the microwave and call it good. Add some chips and baby carrots, bada bing, bada boom - dinner. I know I am such a gourmet.
The point of this story is that over our lovely BBQ chicken I remember to tell my husband that I called in his prescription and that he needs to pick it up on Monday. He responses with "oh has it been a month already?"
This proves how on completely different wavelengths we are.
The last time that he had a refill it was Dec 4th. For some reason I noticed this when I called the Dr. this morning. I remember the day. I insisted that he take UnPaid Time off to go and get the medication. We were both working, I remember the conversation specifically.
To my point.
That was a *really* really really long time ago to me.
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