One of Dickens' best known novels is A Tale of Two Cities, which starts with one of the most quoted sentences in the English language: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." My night tonight was kind of like that (why yes, I am being melodramatic).
To start out with John and I finally pulled the frozen pizza skins out of the freezer. They had been there since the last time we made pizza (which, according to my post, was in the beginning of August). Because the dough had been frozen for six months I had very low expectations. I topped mine with extra sauce and a little bit of cheese. John did the opposite: extra cheese and a smidge of sauce. He made the right call. The crust was OK, but lacked the crunch of fresh dough. The added cheese made up for the soggy crust.
So the night was great because the pizza turned out even though it had been in the freezer six times longer than the recommended freezing time. Why was it the worst of times? Simple. I discovered that you should not grate your hand when you are trying to clean it. That would be bad enough, but it's my yarn finger, and I'm worried I won't be able to knit. If I can't knit I may have to get around to cleaning my house and painting my guest room. That horrifies me. It would be the stuff of a Dickens' novel.