It wasn’t the graduate degree, the husband, the signing my name to a big ass mortgage or the baby. Not even the social security card.


It was this.

Now. I know. Most of you are like, huh? what? Big deal.

Oh but just let me tell you.

I get skeeved out by:

1) touching raw meat

2) “bad bites” of food (you know, when you bite into something and there’s something… odd in it…. oh God, my mouth just watered a little bit…. not in a good way)

3) chicken skin

4) the feel of anything slimy

So the idea of dumping a chicken into a bunch of water, boiling it, dismantling it, and then using the byproduct to cook from – never on my list of things to do.

Then my SIL Mrs. Deacon sent me a recipe for Chicken Soup and got all braggy about her mad domestic goddess skillz. (Actually, untrue, her comment was, “Ah, where did the undomesticated Mrs. Deacon go? We like her better …”)

Then I was in the grocery store and they had chicken broth on sale for 3 bucks instead of 3.50. I reached out to get some knowing I already had 3 at home, but chicken broth is one of those things I always need.

I paused. 3 bucks? And for a container I couldn’t recycle?

The time had come.

So today I put the bird in the slow cooker along with onion and carrot. I let it cook. I tore that mofo apart, by hand. I did not gag once. I now have 4 containers of chicken soup starter and 2 containers of straight broth.

I am domestic. I am eco friendly. I am cheap.

I have become my grandmother.

Except I’m pretty sure she never said ‘mofo’.