Whining, Wine-ing & Winning

I’m convinced houses smell different when you come home to them. A new scentsy wax, a clean bathroom…or a Butthead in the slow cooker.

Butthead has been hanging out in the slow cooker all day doing his thing. We escaped to the pool for a few hours, and when we opened the front door again…good grief. The smell hit us immediately. Not like a BBQ joint. More like walking into a family pig roast where grandma has been cooking all day and everyone is arguing over who gets first dibs on the tortillas.

When you stay home while something cooks, you sort of go nose blind to it. You catch little hints here and there, but leaving for a while and coming back? It’s like being welcomed home by a giant, delicious hug from Mexico.

This is one reason I actually prefer cooking Butthead during the day instead of overnight like I usually do for tamales. Don’t get me wrong, I love tamales. But making them requires an entire morning, several shots of Rumple, and at some point my soul quietly exits my body. By tamale number thirty-seven, I’m questioning my life choices and wondering why I do this to myself every Christmas…mostly so we all have something to unwrap.

But Butthead is easy. Rub him down. Tuck him in. Go float in the pool. Come home to a house that smells like a fiesta and a pork ass that’s been working harder than I have all day.

Tonight, Butthead begins his transformation. Breakfast burritos, street tacos, nachos, empanadas…Father’s Day weekend is basically one long pork journey now.

I’ll keep everyone updated.

In one hour he’ll be ready for his Uber to our stomachs. Poor guy never saw the shred coming.