I just dumped my pot pie on the floor. In slow motion, I watched as my hands somehow flipped the plate over, watched my potpie land facedown on the kitchen floor and then bounce, watched the pot pie goodness explode all over the place. The first words out of my mouth: "Shut up." And then, after a nice 45 seconds of staring dejectedly at the remains: "How the hell do I clean *this* up?"
With how things have been going lately, I'm surprised I wasn't hysterical and sobbing as I paper toweled up my pot pie's innards. But it's good that I'm not. It's about time I moved on from Hormone Town.
But I am hungry and have only half a pot pie to eat.
1 comment:
I was taking a pizza out of the oven once and didn't quite have the handle on it, when it slipped off the spatula...My reflex was to catch it with my hand...bad idea. Hot cheese from a 475 degree oven? And not having the skills to jump over two cats and an open oven door? Serious burn blisters. Painful.
I did mourn that pizza, though.
Post a Comment