There's a ham in our oven. And I put it there. Don't get too excited -- I'm not really cooking it. See, we - ok, Scott - has been trying to cook this damn ham for almost a week. He almost got there yesterday - he may have even turned the oven on. But then work called and wanted him to start early. Overtime outweighs home cooking in our house every time.
And then he got home at 1 this morning and turned on the oven... which I convinced him was a bad idea. Who wants to stay up with a ham for 2 hours and then wait for it to cool long enough to put it in the fridge? So he turned off the oven.
So we compromised. He prepped the ham (unwrapped it and stuck in in an oven bag) and all I had to do was pre-heat the oven and pop that bad boy in. When I woke up this morning, Scott rolled over and told me there were directions on the stove.
There were directions. Written. On the stove. My tired brain couldn't even wrap itself around this. "He sharpied our stovetop? That was pretty stupid." Then I realized that we have a ton of dry-erase markers that we never use and that this was, in fact, a genius move.
Why don't more people write on their stoves?
And of course, it's Scott. So the directions are pretty straightforward:
Preheat to 325
Set timer for 1 hour 48 min
Enjoy Hamy Goondess
Of course, these directions aren't completely idiot-proof. Nowhere on there does it say to put the ham IN the hot oven. Luckily, I'm not a complete idiot.
So tonight when I get home, I'm going to have a ham sandwich with horseradish dijon mustard. And it's going to be so worth the week-long wait.