F*cking Swedish Meatballs

Today, as I chatted with my friend Michelle, I realized that I’m doing things specifically to please The Swede.

I bought him a Man Crate for Christmas.

He has to open it with a crowbar.

I picked out a cool shirt for his daughter.

I’m joining a lodge for the Daughters of Norway.

I’m even learning Swedish.

Slowly.

Eventually I’ll be able to say, “Jag kan prata lite Svenska” and actually mean it.

The truth is I like to do things, and learning about my Nordic heritage is just one more worthy activity to occupy my time and keep me engaged.

My only reservation about it is that it is lacking in ethnic diversity.

Oh, sure there are all different age groups represented, though it does tend to skew toward older women but I’ve learned that there are acres of wisdom in older generations.

And how else will I learn how to cook those awesome little Swedish meatballs without someone showing me?!

I got a recipe for FRUIT SOUP during my first lodge meeting.

And it is NOTHING like sangria, which is MY version of fruit soup.

These are the things I need to know.

Yes, so I can impress a man.

He should already be impressed but just in case he isn’t I am pulling out all the stops.

I might not be able to speak the language as well as The Swede speaks English, but at some point I will be able to cook him a Swedish meatball.

I’m obsessed with fucking Swedish meatballs.

😉

 

 

 

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