Pablo's hiding, and not because it's playtime.
I'm about to cut his wet food with zucchini*, because I bought way too much at Trader Joe's last weekend and I have to use it up before it goes puckery at one end and gooey at the other. These summer squashes are like the loaves and fishes of the famous proverb: numerous, multiple, bottomless.
They just sit there, in their fancy Ziploc bag in the fridge, mocking me: 'What's your next move, cupcake? How will you prepare us next? What about some nice pasta - WITH SAUTEED ZUCCHINI?'
Oh, I'll eat those smug courgettes all right. I'll give thanks for them, too, for I'm not going hungry - and the good produce season will soon pass into the potato-and-rutabaga fog of deep autumn.
*not really
As soon as Maury Povich is over, you guys are going to get it.
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