I have already mentioned that my husband has this thing about making ribs on Father’s Day. And, honestly, as the father of seven kids, if he wants to make ribs once a year, let him. I don’t particularly care for ribs and that does not matter in the slightest because not only is it “his day” (please, people, you and I both know that father’s day is more work for dads than the average Sunday) but also because he cooks them. Perfect. I’ll have bread for dinner.

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