Okay, so the hubby and son left me alone in the kitchen to take the meat off a rotisserie chicken.Alone with the crispy, golden skin.
It was calling my name.
I swear, the lights dimmed, a disco ball lowered slowly from the ceiling and I heard Barry White start to sing. Then the chicken began to dance seductively, waving delicious strips of skin under my nose.....
At which point I desperately crammed a piece of gum in my mouth, pulled the plug on ole Barry, stabbed the chicken right through the breast and counted a HUGE victory for myself and Weight Watchers!
Seriously, my husband and I used to race to see who could get at the skin first. Not any more!
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