What a crock

I bought a crock pot from a woman in my neighborhood for $35. I looked it up new. She used it twice before selling it.
ahem.
I have scored.

And I almost brought the seller half a two-liter of diet coke when I went to pick it up, because it was sitting around my house and I didn’t want to drink it, and I figured that hey, while we’re in the swapping spirit, you know, she could have my diet coke because maybe she really likes diet coke? A. said that was weird. He was right.

So far I’ve made spicy black bean soup out of dried beans and a few spices and next to nothing else, but it was delicious and ready to go when we fell in the door at the end of the day. And friends, I would eat broken glass with cinnamon on it if it was ready to go when I got home from work, so you can imagine how excited I am about this crock pot of mine.

Oh, and when I say, “made soup,” I mean “made an ass-load of soup.”
And when I say the second part, I mean that maybe we shouldn’t have been eating spicy black bean soup for so many meals in a row.

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