Yesterday I picked up some Disney Princess Spaghettios (yeah, yeah I rock) for the girls for dinner and when I opened the can I realized I had bought the kind with meatballs … the kind that makes the girls turn their noses up.
To which I think, “Really? How can you turn down overprocessed pasta shaped like cute tiny tiaras with meatballs when all I got as a kid were plain spaghetti noodles with homemade sauce lovingly made by my mother? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU GIRLS?”
So I did what any mother at six o’clock on a school night flanked by two hungry, whiny children would do.
I poured a tall glass of red zin.
Then I pitched the hell outta those meatballs.
“Girls I accidentally bought Spaghettios with meatballs, but these aren’t ordinary meatballs … these are PRINCESS MEATBALLS!”