I’ve always wondered why the boys get to do the BBQ’ing. In my family it’s not that we were all of the mind that women should be bare foot and pregnant in the kitchen making sammichs for the men all the time and the men were sitting in recliners with one hand down their pants and the other with a beer watching football and yelling for the Cowboys (because let’s face it if that were in fact the scenario that’s who all good upstanding Americans should be yelling for). We weren’t nor are we a family of feminists and feminists supporters, I mean I’m sure some are some aren’t. What I’m trying to say is the duty of BBQ’ing has just always fallen on the men and honestly for no particular reason other than us ladies simply didn’t know how.
Well this weekend I decided if my dad could do it, if my fiancé could do, then so could I. Guess what? It really wasn’t that hard. I felt pretty accomplished, pretty impressed with myself to be honest. Until someone pointed something out to me that made me think perhaps I would just leave the grilling to someone else.
This is a propane grill….I’ll just leave this right here.