Last night I cooked a tri-tip roast on the grill.
I'd hoped for leftovers for tonight's dinner.
But that was not to be.
As I was putting the precious leftovers into the refrigerator after dinner, Number 7 appeared in the kitchen. He was hungry. He wanted the last of the meat. I'm a sucker for hungry children. So I told him ok.
A few minutes later, I began hunting around for the container that the meat had briefly lived in before Number 7 rescued it from chilled captivity.
I couldn't find the container anywhere on the counter, even though I knew that the meat no longer had a home in the fridge. I looked all over the kitchen.
Finally I looked inside the fridge.
And there was the empty container, carefully put away by Number 7. Aged 14.
Sounds like something I would have done.
Isn't he cute?