Worcestershire Is the Worst

Nothing starts a morning off right like Worcestershire sauce.

Yes, I am serious, but read that statement with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

This morning, as I scurried into the kitchen to put together a sandwich for my lunch, I swung open the refrigerator door and a bottle of Worcestershire sauce I had just bought for a recipe up and jumped out, smashing onto the ceramic tiles.

As I stood and stared at the mess, thankfully all but the toe of one boot clear of the splash zone, all I could think was, Really?

Let’s not even get into the fact that the whole reason the bottle fell out was probably my own sheer laziness of not putting it up correctly, but still. Who wants to start their morning with a huge puddle of Worcestershire sauce in the floor at 6:40 a.m.?

So, yes, dear friends, I’ve swept and mopped parts of my floor already this morning and will do it again when I get home tonight. And there’s nothing that starts the day off right like picking up pieces of broken glass out of a sea of sauce—and hoping your hands don’t still smell like it.

Why can’t I just start the day with coffee like everyone else in the world?

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