Remember last August when a bottle of balsamic vinegar broke on my pantry floor?
It. Happened. Again.
Really, I don't have the words to express how incredibly frustrated/angry/annoyed/etc I was when the bottle broke this morning. But one choice cuss word emitted from my mouth in front of my 8-year-old daughter. That's some fine parenting there.
I contained the spillage and spent the next hour cleaning the pantry, all the time wondering if God was punishing me for not going to church this morning. I don't think He plays that way, but I wondered.
All I know is balsamic vinegar is my kryptonite.