As I’ve already admitted, I’m a boring preggo. No crazy dreams, sobbing at diaper commercials, middle of the night ice cream binges, pickle benders, sheesh, about the only thing I’ve ever gotten downright stereotypical about — eh, aside from months of frenetic nesting as evidenced by a gardening frenzy, walls! freezer stash and perhaps a few hasty furniture purchases — was when my husband came home from the store without the requested watermelon. How could he! Watermelon is edible air conditioning. It might be the only reason I’ve survived the summer thus far. It was a rough 22 minutes until he got back from the store (a whole block away) with more.
And so when a few weeks ago I began inexplicably craving barbecued ribs, I was ridiculously excited to have my first real, actual food urgency. “The baby wants ribs!” I texted a handful of meat-eating friends on a Friday afternoon, knowing that everyone likely had weekend plans and wouldn’t be able to make it, and thus fully underestimating the power of barbecue, like some sort of noob. Nope, not a single person was unavailable after reading the text, as will happen because: ribs. And so on Saturday morning, I sent my son on his two-wheeler down to Pino’s and told him not to come back with anything less than 3 racks (just kidding — I sent his dad along to assist) and got started on what is seriously the easiest and most popular summer party you can have — no grill required.
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