Shepherd Vibes

First we got a reputation around Blackrock as people who will dispose of unwanted roosters. This reputation was re-established at our home in northern New York, where we once again found ourselves offing extraneous male chickens for neighbors.

And now? That reputation is only growing in our new home.

We have a new short-term resident.

Say hello to Big Boy.

Yesterday A. called the guy we get our milk from to tell him we wouldn't be there today to pick up our usual two gallons because I'm still trying to catch up from the backlog of milk that accumulated during A.'s trip. When A. got off the phone, he informed me that we would shortly be receiving a wether to butcher.

Say what?

A wether is a castrated male sheep. They're castrated to make them easier to handle as they grow, so they can grow to a bigger size before being butchered. It also keeps the meat from getting too strong a taste. The milk people, who already have sheep, had been given three wethers by a woman whose father had always had sheep. He died; she wanted to get rid of the sheep. 

The milk people did not, however, particularly wish to butcher three large sheep. In the course of conversation with the milk lady, I had mentioned that we used to have sheep. And that we butcher our own animals. So I guess we were a logical home for an unwanted meat sheep.

We also suspect they do not wish to eat that much mutton.

Because this dude most definitely ain't no lamb. That's a full-grown sheep. And wether or not, that meat is going to be strong.

I was not enthused about this. I eat lamb, albeit somewhat grudgingly. It's not my favorite, and I have zero interest in eating mutton, which is of course even stronger tasting than lamb. A. said he would probably give most of the meat to some of the older people in the village, many of whom grew up raising and eating sheep.

In the meantime, however, we have a sheep. 

My parents are coming for a short visit on Thursday*. A. very thoughtfully said we could wait to butcher Big Boy until they left. They're not really into the homesteading lifestyle, so I think they'll appreciate that. Also, the weather is going to be too warm to hang the meat for aging until a week from Thursday.

But mostly, the delay means that A. is a shepherd again, if only for a little while. And that makes him very happy indeed.

* They asked what they could pick up for us before they came, no doubt expecting I would ask for something like lettuce or avocados. Instead I asked if they could pick up fifty pounds of feed corn for the sheep. And this is why I have the reputation in my family as the weird one.

Friday Food: BYOV

BYOV = "Bring Your Own Vegetables."

Friday

Short version: Pizza, green salad

Long version: I always make pizza when we have guests. I'm famous for it (in my head, anyway.) It is exceptional pizza. Not that I'm in any way biased.

Cast iron skillets make everything taste (and look) better.

I made one cheese pizza; one with mushrooms, bell pepper, and onions; and a salad with the grape tomatoes that I asked my sister to bring with her (along with quite a bit of other produce) when she drove to our house from the airport in Albuquerque. Because when you're a houseguest a hundred miles from anywhere, you bring your own tomatoes with you.

Saturday

Short version: Cheater carnitas tacos

Long version: Carnitas are supposed to be chunked-up pork simmered in water until tender, then the water simmered away until only the fat remains to fry the meat in.

However.

I have a great aversion to cutting up raw pork, and anyway, my pork roast had a bone in it.

So instead I cooked the pork slowly in my Dutch oven in the, um, oven (with nothing but salt and a very small amount of water to prevent scorching), then poured off the fat and juices, pulled the meat off the bone and into chunks, and fried the chunks in the fat I skimmed off the poured-off stuff.

It was really good. Even if I did forget to cut up one of the avocados that my sister also brought with her.

The children also had an appetizer of frozen peas. What can I say? It makes them happy and keeps them quiet for five minutes. Who am I to argue with that?

Sunday

Short version: T-bone steaks, roasted potatoes, sauteed mushrooms and onions, roasted broccoli, chocolate pudding

Long version: One of my sister's favorite foods is steak. Well! Did she come to the right house or what?

So we had steak.

I roasted the potatoes in some more of the duck fat that I continue to work on using up. And the broccoli was, of course, also something she brought with her.

I made pudding again because I had to go on Saturday to pick up my usual two gallons of milk from the people up the road that have Jersey cows, but I still had quite a bit of milk left due to A. being gone and not drinking it. And I needed to empty and wash the half-gallon Mason jars it comes in so I could bring them back. So I made a double batch of this chocolate pudding Saturday morning.

The taste was perfect, but it was too thin. I mean, no one refused it, but pudding shouldn't really be drinkable. Maybe it was because it was a double batch. Or maybe because I didn't have enough chocolate chips and had to substitute cocoa powder, sugar, and butter for half the chocolate chips. Or maybe I just didn't cook it long enough.

I will make it again, though. It had a very strong chocolate flavor, which is exactly how I like chocolate pudding. Pudding cups don't even come close. They're a weird gray-brown color. This looked just like melted chocolate.

Chocolate brown, as God intended chocolate pudding to be. No gray.

Monday

Short version: Leftovers. And grape tomatoes.

Long version: My sister left this day and A. was supposed to come home from his trip to New York. She did; he didn't. His flight was canceled, thanks to all those 737s being grounded.

So we had leftovers.

I heated up the remainder of the carnitas pork in a cast iron skillet. It must be re-heated in a skillet, or it's not good.

Charlie, Jack, and Poppy had tortillas and cheese with the pork. Cubby had that plus some of the rice and vegetable soup I made with the remainder of Miss Amelia's chicken rice.

I had diced avocado, tomatoes, and pork with a little balsamic vinegar. Tortillas and cheese not at all necessary.

Tuesday

Short version: Meatballs in marinara sauce, garlic bread, green peas

Long version: When I made the meatballs the week before, I froze twenty plain, raw meatballs. A. wasn't going to be home for dinner again, so I just made a quick marinara sauce in the morning (lots of garlic sauteed in olive oil, one can of whole tomatoes mashed with the potato masher, the dregs of the bottle of red wine my sister and I finished, dried basil and oregano, bay leaf), poured it over the meatballs and baked them.

I was going to make pasta, but I was once again baking bread in the afternoon. Garlic bread it is, then.

Wednesday

Short version: Sirloin steaks, boiled potatoes, green salad

Long version: Another 4:15 p.m. 4-H meeting, another chance for prepping dinner way ahead of time. I peeled and diced the potatoes in the afternoon and left them in the pot covered with water for A. to cook before we got home. I also left two ENORMOUS sirloin steaks that flopped over the edge of my griddle pan and kept causing flare-ups.

A. made the potatoes and started the steaks before we got home at 5:15 p.m., but I finished everything because he went back to the village to get the big bag of dishes and leftovers from the peanut butter cookies and vegetables and ranch dip I had brought for Official 4-H Snack. I left the bag next to the van in the parking lot and drove right off without it.

Yay, me.

A. drove 20 miles roundtrip to retrieve it and didn't find it.

One of the other parents found it and left it by our door on her way home. And hey, at least it wasn't my wallet.

Thursday

Short version: Fajitas, green salad

Long version: This is the first time I've ever made fajitas with the traditional skirt steak, and now I see why skirt steak is the preferred cut of beef for fajitas. So, so good. I marinated them in oil, lime juice, chili powder, cumin, a small amount of soy sauce, and salt. Yum.

And now I've gotten to the very end with no picture of the baby and no current picture to post. So let's have a blast from the very cheeky past.

Hair by Cubby. Poor girl has been bugged by her brothers from the very beginning.

Okay, your turn! What'd you eat this week?

Way Back Wash Day

I've read a lot about what you might call the history of domestic work, and one thing that has always struck me is how much it sucked to wash clothes. Every history of women's work I have ever read has specifically outlined the incredible physical labor involved in a wash day. So much hauling of water and pouring it in and out of tubs and agitating and scrubbing and wringing and NO THANKS.

Then my washing machine stopped working and I got a very small partial taste of  hand-powered washing which did nothing to change my mind about how much it must have sucked.

See, on Tuesday when I opened up the washing machine to take the clothes out to hang up on the clothesline, they were still sopping wet. I quickly ascertained that the agitator and spin cycle weren't working.

I pulled the clothes out anyway, wrung them out as best I could outside, and hung them on the clothesline to drip and eventually get dry*.

Now. We do not live in a place where it is easy to A) get appliances repaired or B) buy new appliances.

I figured A. could probably fix this machine with the aid of YouTube tutorials. However, he didn't get home from New York until Tuesday night and has been trying to catch up with work ever since.

He brought a bunch of dirty clothes home with him, and the rest of us keep producing dirty clothes, too. And while the washing machine isn't operating all the way, it's still partially working. That is, it fills with water and drains by itself. All I needed to do was the agitating and wringing part.

Or rather, A. did. He's much stronger than I am, you see. So I put in a load of laundry, soaked it in warm water for awhile, and handed A. Cubby's Little League bat.

He used to bat to agitate the clothes and sort of lift them up and around in the water. Then I drained the water and re-filled it for another round with the baseball bat. I don't use soap anyway, so I wasn't required to do multiple rinsings to get rid of the soap.

Who needs a machine agitator when you have a baseball bat?

After that, I just squeezed them out as best I could in the washer and hung them on the clothesline. They didn't get as clean as they would have if the machine had done it all--I probably should have done another rinse--and they certainly didn't get as dry, but they definitely got cleaner.

I did another load after this one by myself, which convinced me that I would have been a terrible pioneer woman. My hands were sore from the agitating and hand wringing, my sleeves were wet up to the elbow, and that was only one load. And I didn't have to haul, heat, or dump out any water.

A. promised me he would take the machine apart and look at it this weekend. Until then, if you need me, I'll be here doing my laundry with a baseball bat. Because that, my lovelies, is how this weird and wonderful life goes sometimes.

* I was once again grateful to have a good long clothesline as it meant I wasn't putting the sopping wet clothes in a clothes dryer to burn propane for the two hours it would have taken them to actually dry. Hooray for long clotheslines and excellent New Mexico drying weather.

Retreating To Simplicity. And Peanut Butter

I entered the kitchen this morning to complete my task of making cookies for the 4-H meeting this afternoon. I'm currently out of chocolate chips, so that means no chocolate chip cookies (or oatmeal chocolate chip cookies).

I thought about making oatmeal raisin cookies, but as one of my own sons dislikes raisins in baked goods, I figured that was a no-go.

I considered making snickerdoodles, despite never actually having made or even eaten snickerdoodles before. But all the recipes I found for them required cream of tartar, which I do not have. And apparently, a snickerdoodle isn't a snickerdoodle without cream of tartar.

Also, they require the extra step of rolling them in cinnamon-sugar. I am not making cookies that require any extra steps. I can barely manage creaming butter and sugar without silently swearing.

I briefly looked at some random recipes online for just cinnamon cookies, but those all had an egg plus one yolk. Separating eggs and having a lone egg white in the refrigerator are a personal big "no, thanks" for just a cookie recipe. Or they were actually sugar cookies with a lot of cinnamon in them, and that is just a straight HELL NO.

All this clicking through online recipes was stressing me out, doubly so when the wifi was going on and off because A. was trying to fix our non-working Internet phone service*.

So I did what I should have done to start with and made the peanut butter cookies from my 1996 Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook.

Simple ingredients. A whole egg. No weird instructions. Almost certain to be loved by every child. And the oddly therapeutic task of pressing hatchmarks into the cookies with a fork.

Let this be a lesson to future me: Sometimes it's best just to close the computer and go with the tried and true.

The end.

* This is exactly why I was so disappointed that an old-school landline was not an option here. Nothing works like an actual wire straight into the phone. Also, this is like the fourth thing that is currently broken in our house right now, including my washing machine, but I'm not thinking about that right now LALALALALACOOKIES.

Friday Food: Thrifty Fun

Friday

Short version: Macaroni and cheese, green peas

Long version: The last time I made macaroni and cheese was pretty dismal, so I decided to actually follow a recipe this time. I screwed it up in multiple ways, but it still came out well. I started out making half a recipe, but then when it came time to cook the pasta I dumped in the whole pound, and then I had not enough sauce, so I added a little bit of extra milk after I had already assembled the casserole.

I was using homemade sourdough bread instead of white sandwich bread for the bread crumbs, so I should have made much smaller crumbs and used a lot more butter for them. They were kind of dry. Also, I only had store-brand sharp cheddar and some mild cheddar, so I wasn't starting with the greatest quality ingredients.

But like I said, it still came out well. Cubby asked me whose recipe it was. I said it was Martha Stewart's. He asked if I had her address because he wanted to write to her and tell her how delicious the macaroni and cheese is.

Perhaps Martha Stewart might actually enjoy receiving such a letter? Just don't tell her what a mess I made of her recipe.

Saturday

Short version: Cube steak in gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans

Long version: Cubby and Charlie returned this day from their trip. They spent the day before hiking the Guadalupe Peak Trail. Guadalupe Peak is the highest peak in Texas. The trail is 8.4 miles, rated "strenuous," and there's an elevation gain of about 3,000 feet.

They did the whole thing. THE WHOLE THING. Charlie, may I remind you, is six years old. I didn't even want to do that kind of hiking when I was sixteen years old. (Just ask my dad.)

He said it was fun, but cold. I should think it's pretty much always cold at almost 9,000 feet above sea level.

Anyway. I thought after all that exertion I'd better make something pretty hearty. So I cut up cube steaks into, um, cubes, browned them, simmered them with garlic, then made a gravy with milk and cornstarch. I also added some balsamic vinegar and already-cooked chopped onion I had hanging around at the end. It was okay, but it did kind of remind me of Salisbury steak.

Sunday

Short version: Bunless hamburgers, rice, roasted sweet potatoes/onions/cabbage, vanilla pudding

Long version: You can tell this was St. Patrick's Day because I added cabbage to my roasted vegetable mixture, and also gave the children--who do not like roasted vegetables, the weirdos--wedges of raw cabbage for their vegetable. I'm at least half Irish, and A. has quite a bit of Irish ancestry too, so I felt I should acknowledge that with cabbage.

I also planted some cabbage starts this day. I thought it was appropriate, even though much of this cabbage will probably be used for sauerkraut. I also have German ancestry.

I would have made potatoes, too, but A. planted the rest of my bag of potatoes, so rice it was.

I had already planned on making pudding when I stopped in at the tiny store in the village after church to get a gallon of milk. The guy running it gave me the two gallons he had left for free because they had reached their "best by" date the day before. He said he was glad I came in, because with "all those young 'uns" he was sure it wouldn't go to waste. Nope, sure didn't. I used most of one gallon to make a double batch of pudding and froze the other to make yogurt with next week. The young 'uns were very happy with their pudding.

Monday

Short version: Cheese omelets, use-it-up rice dish

Long version: Usually when I make eggs for dinner, they're scrambled, because that's the easiest and quickest way to cook as many eggs as I need to make for this horde. This time, I decided to indulge Cubby's dislike of scrambled eggs and make cheese omelets. I made three omelets with five eggs each, and was reminded anew why I don't make omelets for dinner. It took like half an hour. What a pain.

I was amused by the variety of egg sizes in the eggs I most recently got from Jack's preschool teacher. A few of them were huge. Not double-yolked, either, just huge eggs.

That's one overachieving hen.

The rice dish was one of those pleasing things that uses up a multitude of random bits and pieces. The last three pieces of bacon, diced and fried; plus about a quarter cup of partially-cooked onion from a couple of days before when I needed only a tiny amount of onion for tuna salad but didn't want to store the rest of the raw onion in the refrigerator; plus the rest of the carrot sticks from A. and Charlie's road trip (diced); plus a little bit of collard greens that I hacked off the frozen chunk in the freezer; plus some green peas and the leftover rice.

It was quite tasty, except oversalted because the little metal pourer on the salt container fell right out as I was doing the final seasoning, resulting in the salt rushing out a little too fast. Whoops. It was still good, though. Everyone had seconds and the entire (full) skillet was eaten.

I also used the rather water-logged cheese left in the cooler that A. brought home from their trip for the omelets. I am totally in the running for Thrifty Homemaker of the Year.

Tuesday

Short version: Indecisive steaks, fried potatoes, green beans

Long version: I took out a big pork roast from the freezer on Monday, congratulating myself for taking it out to thaw ahead of time so I wasn't dealing with my usual almost-totally-frozen chunk of pork situation when it was time to cook it.

But then I thought, "Wait. We just had eggs. I should save the pork for when we've had beef for like five nights in a row and I need a break from the cow."

So then I took out some ground beef because Cubby has been requesting shepherd's pie.

But then I thought, "Wait. I have that duck fat I need to use up. I need to fry some potatoes. But I don't want to make hamburgers again."

So I took out some steaks. They were really good, as were the potatoes. Those I thinly sliced on the mandoline side of my box grater--a hated task--then put in the skillet with the duck fat, salt, and pepper, cooked them covered on medium heat until they were almost done, then turned the heat up to brown them some more.

I had planned to make a vegetable requiring more prep work than frozen green beans, but just before I was going to start cooking, I got pinned in my chair by a double nap situation.

I elected to sit there and let them sleep rather than get up to prep vegetables. I have no regrets.

Wednesday

Short version: Barbecue meatballs, garlic bread, roasted broccoli/cauliflower/onion

Long version: A. left in the afternoon this day for a trip to New York. I would normally use his absence as an opportunity to make grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner and call it a meal. However. I had all that meat in the refrigerator. So the kids got lucky and had meatballs for dinner instead.

I save pieces of sourdough bread for bread crumbs--mostly the end pieces--which are still pretty coarse even after going through the food processor. Therefore, I make sure to soak them for at least five minutes in milk to soften them, then I squish them with my hands before I add the rest of the ingredients (in this case, ground beef, eggs, diced and sauteed onion because I loathe bits of raw onion in meatballs, salt, pepper, and garlic powder). The bread crumbs incorporate much better this way.

I made the garlic bread because I was baking bread anyway right before dinner, so I once again stole some dough to make a loaf of garlic bread. This time I kneaded some garlic powder and extra salt right into the dough instead of just putting it on top with the butter, and it was much better that way.

The broccoli and cauliflower was already-prepared florets in a plastic bag labeled "steam in bag." No. Never. Much healthier to cook it in a cast-iron skillet in the oven.

It was a very visually appealing meal.

A steamed plastic bag of vegetables would not have the same aesthetic value.

Thursday

Short version: Flank steak, Miss Amelia's chicken rice, green salad

Long version: Miss Amelia gave me some rice she said she had made with leftover chicken. It was short grain rice that had been cooked so long it was kind of like mush. She cooks on a woodburning stove, so I think everything gets cooked a long time.

Anyway.

It was pretty bland, so I added some Parmesan cheese and lots of pepper. It was okay, but I think I'll use the rest for a soup base.

I marinated the steak in a balsamic vinaigrette that I also used for the salad. Not that I put the marinade from the raw meat over the salad; I just saved some for the salad. But I'm sure you didn't think I would do something like that, right? Right.

Wait! We can't have a Friday Food post without a picture of the baby! This is the only recent one I have.

Blurry baby eating bread and butter in her room with no pants on. What a life.

Okay, your turn! What'd you eat this week?

Another Chance To Shine

I'm afraid that I have a history of questionable hostessing experiences.

There was the time that the MiL came to visit us in northern New York and I forgot to give her blankets for her bed. Luckily, the MiL is pretty chill about such things (ha--get it? chill? chilled because of no blankets? yeah), but I was still kind of embarrassed by that one. I haven't forgotten blankets since, either.

There was the time I got shingles the day my parents came to visit us here and they spent most of their time taking care of my kids and driving A. to the airport.

And there have been many, many times that my sister has been the recipient of my particular brand of hospitality. She has come to see me only to spread manure, dispose of a rotting deer, sleep in a room with a tower of bed frames (or just on a fold-out couch in the living room), and take my sons skating on the ice rink of our driveway on the Canadian border.

I don't know why she keeps coming to visit me, but she is even now en route from her home in Florida to our remote outpost of New Mexico. But I think this will her best visit yet. I have an actual room for her, with an actual bed and a door and everything!

Okay, so actually it's Cubby's room. I made that into the potential guest room by bringing home a queen-sized bed my parents were going to donate because my dad made a king bed for their guest room. I took the bed planning to put it in Cubby's room and kick him out of there to sleep in his brothers' room should we ever have a guest that needed a room.

That day has arrived.

It took some doing to transform that room from a room that is clearly inhabited by a nine-year-old boy into an acceptable guest room. But I'm pretty proud of the end result.

So of course I took some pictures for you. I should have taken "before" pictures so you could fully appreciate the remarkable transformation.

Unfortunately, I couldn't do anything about the hideous floral border thing near the ceiling that I didn't have a chance to paint over yet. Thanks, Dale.

That white bedspread will not stay on the bed when Cubby is back in residence.

I'm sure my sister will appreciate the cheesy '30s-era illustration of a lumberjack in a log jam. And the mason jar for water because I don't have any actual drinking glasses. Mason jars are still trendy, right?

Incidentally, that "bouquet" there? That was a stretch, for sure. The room was kind of bare looking, but it's not as if I have access to any fresh flowers. It's too early for anything much to be growing outside, either. Literally my only options were that feathery green weed that was growing near our fence and some branches from the apricot tree that is alllllmost about to bud out.

Can you see the teeny tiny pink buds?

It's not exactly a room at the Ritz, but it's a far sight better than some of my previous options for housing guests. And more importantly, I feed guests really well. I figure if I fill them up on homemade pizza and carnitas tacos, they'll be in too much of a food coma to stay awake to notice their rather basic quarters.

In any case, we're very excited to have SuperAunt come for another visit. And I am NOT going to have her help me plant the 49 Arizona Cypress trees that just arrived yesterday. No, I am not.

The most gracious of hostesses; that's me.

Making Dreams Come True

Clotheslines are very important to me. I've been hanging clothes outside to dry almost exclusively for years now. I like it, and I like not paying for the propane or electricity for a clothes dryer.

And now, settle in for a short history of my life with clotheslines. Whee! With many links to pictures of Clothesline I Have Known, because I appear to have a slight fixation.

Ahem.

The first clothesline I remember using was when I was growing up in Tucson. We had one on our back patio and my dad was pretty militant about us using it instead of the dryer. It takes clothes about two minutes to dry there, so I can see why he was so insistent about it. I found it kind of annoying at the time--teenagers are like that--but it started my clothesline experience.

The clothesline at Blackrock was always between two trees, as there are many, many trees to choose from there. First it was between the sweet gum tree and a cedar tree. (Bonus photo of that clothesline, because yikes, I have a LOT of photos of clotheslines on this blog.) Until the cedar tree almost fell right over from rot and had to be removed.

Then the clothesline was moved to a spot between a basswood tree, a utility pole, and a tulip poplar tree. Until the tulip poplar blew over in a violent storm. Then we just had the shorter clothesline between the basswood and the utility pole.

At our house in northern New York, there was no clothesline until A. put one up for me under the elevated porch. We eventually moved it to a spot between a birch tree and a spruce tree, so the clothes would get more sun and also not be right outside the back door. It was a pretty short line, though, so it wasn't good for much except hanging out blankets or whatever.

I never did get a clothesline put up at our rental house in the village here, mostly because there was nowhere convenient to run it and we didn't want to dig a giant hole in the yard to put in a standalone one.

When we moved to this house, A. put up a temporary clothesline for me between the fence and the shed. I never intended that to be the permanent spot because it wasn't long enough and also it was exposed to the often-strong winds here that would blow things right off the line with some regularity. The wind also blew loose dirt all around there.

I was determined that at this house, where we anticipate staying for many years and where the weather is good pretty much all year for line drying, I was going to have a clothesline that really worked the way I wanted it to, not just a random one put up wherever there happened to be supports for it. After all my experience with clotheslines in the past, I knew exactly what I wanted.

The preferred style of clothesline in this area is two T-bars of heavy pipe to make a double clothesline. I liked this idea very much and told A. that's what I wanted. With two full-length clotheslines, I would finally have enough space to hang two loads of laundry. I have never had this much clothesline space, and now that I have to do two loads of laundry every other day, I could only hang all my clothes out if I did a load every single day. And then I still couldn't put up sheets and other things.

I also spent some time thinking about where I wanted the clothesline positioned, eventually deciding on the backyard, which is completely enclosed by the house on the south side and a high board fence on the other three sides. This blocks the wind enough that even when it's blowing a gale everywhere else, there's never more than a pretty good breeze back there. Also, there are no trees there, which means no birds perching over the line and soiling the formerly-clean clothes with their droppings.

Gross.

A. built the clothesline I specified, in the place I requested. I bought some heavy-duty clothesline to put on the frame, some really awesome metal clothespins to anchor the clothes on the line even if the wind is strong (and also to replace most of the wooden clothespins I have always hated because they seem to break far too frequently).

We think it could use an additional prop in the center to hold everything up properly, but other than that easily-remedied issue, I have the clothesline of my dreams now:

Happy sigh.

And as a bonus, A. also made me a compost bin so I wasn't just dumping garbage in a pile in the corner of the back yard:

Incredibly ugly and cheap afghan left behind by Dale. Nothing is more patriotic than a compost bin.

Three cheers for A. He sure knows how to spoil a woman.