The Crock Pot

Ok...so today I faced my fear. The dreaded Crock Pot... As a single girl I had little use for this elusive appliance. Waiting 8 hours for large batches of comfort food puzzled me and didn't fit into my spontaneous lifestyle. Undoubtedly, I never knew where I was going to end up in 8 hours...drinks? dinner with my boyfriend? a trip to the city for a last minute party or concert?...There was little monotony and certainly no planning ahead aside from choosing to wear heels or flats. Crock pots were for married women that went to the grocery store with lists longer than: 12 lean cuisines, Oreos, vodka. Crock pots were for women that brought unidentified casseroles adorned with cornflake toppings and catchy names to church events. Crock pots were for women who hosted Tupperware parties (Tupperware is a subject that I surely will cover in the future). With that in mind I never owned a crock pot or thought I ever would. I got married last year and on my wedding day I received a ring, a husband, and a crock pot. I wasn't surprised. In my mind it just went with the territory along with chip n' dips and decorative deviled egg holders. My crock pot went under my cupboard for a year to collect dust up until a month ago... to make some manly BBQ Pork. Pork and BBQ sauce didn't seem all that difficult and I thought I would even get a little creative with my spices. I covered the little 2 lbs. pork roast with cloves until it looked like a cross between a medieval mace and an Easter ham. After about an hour of cooking the house smelled like I had been chain smoking clove cigarettes and I knew for sure I had overdone it...So today, in my second attempt at long term cooking I am two hours into a concoction that will hopefully, in 5 more hours, resemble Chicken and Biscuits. I was going to share with you my wonderfully made up recipe (which earlier I was quite proud of). However, now that i have had time to think I am beginning to freak out just a little bit. All of my fears of failure are currently slow cooking in the crock pot. It will be 5 hours until I desperately search my husband's face for a tell-tale sign of culinary triumph or failure. He will have to choke down at least half of it before he has figured out just the right encouraging and diplomatic way to tell me that I should never do that again. I will let you know later how it turns out... or if anyone has been rushed to the hospital for an immediately stomach pump, in which case, I won't share the recipe.