“But officer! His head just ran into that cast iron frying pan… twice… it was a terrible accident!”
I had a bit of a breakdown breakthrough last night. It began around the time I was putting my un-manicured hands into the third load of dishwater in the past eight hours. It festered as I carried the fourth load of washing from the cellar, up two flights of stairs. It bubbled when I went into the bathroom and discovered combination shaving cream/toothpaste decorating the double sinks.
There was a gradual slow simmer… it almost escaped into a full blown rice-boiling-over episode around lunch time. But finally could no longer be contained at 7:08pm.
“Hi, honey. What’s for dinner?” It’s not like I expect him to ask about my day…
“It’s not ready yet… it will take another five minutes or so.” I know this because I just checked the oven 11 seconds ago.
Cue – kitchen cupboards being opened and closed, packets being rustled, cutlery drawers slamming… refrigerator door…
“What are you doing?” I haven’t actually dared to enter the kitchen, but I am pretty sure I know what the answer will be.
“Just getting a little snack.”
“But I just told you that dinner will be ready in (checking my watch) four minutes.”
“I know, but I am hungry.”
And I blew… Mt Vesuvius has got nothin’ on this kid.
The rant went on long after the first eruption.
Everyone showed the whites of their eyes…
And the response? How does the male of the species see the world, I hear you ask?
“Has it ever happened that I haven’t eaten everything you have ever cooked?
