Cuba Madness

Nine Thirty PM. Just home from Dance Class. Did something to my neck while talking on the cell phone to my mom. While driving, natch. There will Be. No. Cooking.

Except to fry some plantains, quick, and melt some butter and add orange and lime juice to it. Pour it over some leftover chicken. Listen to Ricky Martin. (Ok, he’s Puerto Rican. I can’t find my Buena Vista Social Club CD.) Eat.

Aaaahhhh… Much better.

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