Friday, April 17, 2009
Friday: Damn French Toast & Happy Delivery
This very morning, the Queen of the Castle installed upon her livingroom-based Aerobed (TM), reset the alarm clock (i.e., oven timer) for 6:30 a.m. This "snooze button" recalibration was due to LLGA's ridiculous number of wee-hours-awakenings.
At 6:05 a.m., there was scuffling in the kitchen. Initially, through my arthropodic eyestalks (since my eyes were squeezed closed from the bright glare of massive and sudden illumination) I thought it might be the Tallest of the Crablets rummaging. But then I swear I heard through my shell-sensor the sound of one egg after another being tap-tap-tap-cracked and then, SHORE enough, the unmistakable sound of a SANDing whisk.
What the SAND!?!
But then, oh, yes, it gets better: The sound of major excavation. Since the galley kitchen (openly connected by some FOOL architect's design "plan" of a "great room" to promote the maximum noise transfer between kitchen/livingroom/diningroom) has one whole 9 cu. ft. cupboard for ALL the pots, pans, baking dishes, bowls, and lids to reside within, to unearth one item generally involves a cacophony of relocations of pots, pans, baking dishes, bowls, and lids.
And then the unmistakable clicking and whoosh of the gas stovetop lighting. More whisking, more clanking, and now, joy, weird burning smell.
The oven timer (had the Evil-Doer taken note of its blinking countdown) still had 20-odd minutes remaining for ... me ... to ... SLEEP.
GMK looked positively stunned that I awakened in a dismal mood, casting invectives and expletives about in the direction of her French Toast Project. She claimed, somewhat lamely, that she had been "quiet" and "unobtrusive". I pointed out in no uncertain manner that there is NO such thing as "quiet" and "unobtrusive" at 6 o'clock.
I took issue with her "agenda" -- that the stale bread be used before mold spores established squatters' rights. Mold spores deserve to live the American Dream of a white, butter-topped loaf, too.
Tim loudly rejected the proffer of French toast as did Charlie-boy. I refused the French toast out of principle, too.
Not an auspicious beginning to the Beginning of another Weekend. Proof that "No good deed goes unpunished" and evidence that Auntie Patty Cake's views about the Right to Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Snoozing may have spread to the Crab Queen.
=======
The Dell is in the Castle. Both boxes. My new best-friend-forever, Robert, is coming Monday first-thing to install. YAY!
At 6:05 a.m., there was scuffling in the kitchen. Initially, through my arthropodic eyestalks (since my eyes were squeezed closed from the bright glare of massive and sudden illumination) I thought it might be the Tallest of the Crablets rummaging. But then I swear I heard through my shell-sensor the sound of one egg after another being tap-tap-tap-cracked and then, SHORE enough, the unmistakable sound of a SANDing whisk.
What the SAND!?!
But then, oh, yes, it gets better: The sound of major excavation. Since the galley kitchen (openly connected by some FOOL architect's design "plan" of a "great room" to promote the maximum noise transfer between kitchen/livingroom/diningroom) has one whole 9 cu. ft. cupboard for ALL the pots, pans, baking dishes, bowls, and lids to reside within, to unearth one item generally involves a cacophony of relocations of pots, pans, baking dishes, bowls, and lids.
And then the unmistakable clicking and whoosh of the gas stovetop lighting. More whisking, more clanking, and now, joy, weird burning smell.
The oven timer (had the Evil-Doer taken note of its blinking countdown) still had 20-odd minutes remaining for ... me ... to ... SLEEP.
GMK looked positively stunned that I awakened in a dismal mood, casting invectives and expletives about in the direction of her French Toast Project. She claimed, somewhat lamely, that she had been "quiet" and "unobtrusive". I pointed out in no uncertain manner that there is NO such thing as "quiet" and "unobtrusive" at 6 o'clock.
I took issue with her "agenda" -- that the stale bread be used before mold spores established squatters' rights. Mold spores deserve to live the American Dream of a white, butter-topped loaf, too.
Tim loudly rejected the proffer of French toast as did Charlie-boy. I refused the French toast out of principle, too.
Not an auspicious beginning to the Beginning of another Weekend. Proof that "No good deed goes unpunished" and evidence that Auntie Patty Cake's views about the Right to Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Snoozing may have spread to the Crab Queen.
=======
The Dell is in the Castle. Both boxes. My new best-friend-forever, Robert, is coming Monday first-thing to install. YAY!

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