And, plop, there goes my identity...

This evening, after coming home from work I:

1 - Baked some oatmeal-whole wheat bread.

2 - Made chicken in peanut sauce from the Oprah Magazine Cookbook.

3 - And in the meantime, rendered my own chicken fat from the skins left over from #2.

Yup, I've officially become a wife. Judging by these foods, I can't quite tell if I'm a Middle America wife or a Crunchy Granola wife or a East European Jewish wife. Or some weird, chewy and fatty and fibrous combination of the three. But there it is. It's done. There's no hope for me now.

Does it help at all that I was listening to podcasts of Paul Fry discussing New Historicism and hermeneutics (from iTunes U) while doing all of this? I think I'll go enter a hermeneutic circle with the crispy chicken skin bits and ponder...