Grits Served Cold

Most times, if I suddenly pop up wide awake, I am driven by my dreams--crazy images of Big Guy driving the minivan with the party pony and giraffe wedged in the back seat or some other such nonsense. But not this morning. I awoke fearing that my writing on Cheesy Grits might have inadvertently come across as endorsing Newt Gingrich. Not so. Many a fool is smart enough to eat grits well. But that doesn't make him a fool worth voting for. Newt is a man who ate grits with his wife and with his girlfriend, too. I don't know if he ate them with cheese, buttered or plain. Or if the wife served them in a bowl while the girlfriend served them on a plate. But a man who eats his grits in two places isn't worth fixing grits for, at least not hot grits. And there's nothing like the rubber cement of cold grits to remind you to take out the trash.