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So I’m going to the Melting Pot this Saturday, for the first time ever. I’ve heard it is quite an experience; I love melted cheese and the concept of dipping foods is pretty much heaven for me.

Sometimes I make food just so I can eat certain sauces and dip away. Like when all I want for dinner is ketchup. I mean, as an adult people think you are a freak if all you eat is ketchup. So I have to bake myself Mickey Mouse chicken nuggets and use them to shuttle the ketchup to my pie whole.

I need psychiatric care, just so I can say to a group “Hello, my name is Heather and I am addicting to dipping. Sauces.” I can’t forget to add that last part or they’ll make me go to a tobacco support group instead. But that may be a good thing since I could get the whole group off tobacco and onto ketchup. Ketchup has to be healthier than tobacco.

So back to the original topic. Why haven’t I been to the Melting Pot since this restaurant was obviously designed with me in mind?

Because I married a guy who loathes most cheese ( he’ll eat mozzarella and swiss, if he’s in the mood) and he isn’t a huge fan of dipping food into things. And don’t even get him started on the fact that they are charging you money so you can cook your own meat at the table.

The Hubster is quite the weirdo.

So anywhoo. I will be fasting on Friday and all day Saturday so I can get ready for the extravaganza that my Saturday night will be.

And then I’m going to pack sweatpants because the hour drive home from the restaurant will be brutal.

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