I might make these RW&O posts a regular Friday thing. By Friday my brain is pretty well crapped out, I’m as witty as a Kardashian and coming up with a real post is next to impossible. (I think my utter contempt for the Kardashians may keep me out of heaven. We’ll see.)
1. The Good One had a nightly 2-hour soccer camp at a local community college all week long. It was being taught by the college soccer team. Because it started at 4:30 and Virginia Slims Man couldn’t get there that early, I had to take The Good One to the practice and had to take The Beast with me. Virginia Slims Man would meet us there each night at about 5:45 and then I’d head home with The Beast. And each night as I’d carry The Beast, screaming, to the car to go home, dozens of 20-year-old male college students would stop and stare at me. I could pretend that it’s because I’m a crazy hot MILF, but in reality it’s because I’m a live public service announcement for the need to practice safe sex.
(That is not meant to suggest that I don’t love my child. I love him dearly. But unless you are willing to be stared at, judged, thrown up on and pooped on, you had darn well better practice safe sex.)
(Note to Dad: Do not look up the meaning of “MILF.” You really don’t want to know.)
2. I had my neighbor over for coffee this morning. She is 84 years old and her 86-year-old husband died about 2 weeks ago. I thought I’d make a little treat for us, so last night when I got home from soccer practice, I decided to whip up a batch of chocolate muffins. I’m trying to not be such a lard butt, so I found a recipe online for a low-fat, lower calorie muffin. In an effort to make them even lower calorie, I replaced the oil with applesauce, and I replaced the white flour with white whole wheat flour. (You can probably tell where this story is going.) Last night, just out of the oven, they tasted okay. The Beast ate most of one, but The Good One, who has a more delicate palate, took one bite and made a face like he had just eaten a heaping spoonful of The Beast’s diaper. The Good One tends to be very picky and once told me that the chocolate cake I made tasted like garlic, so I chose to ignore his face of disgust.
Well, you want to know what fat-free, whole wheat chocolate muffins turn into after they cool? They turn into dark brown rocks. If I threw one at you, you’d be knocked into a coma. If we lived in Bible times, I could have sold one to David to stick in his slingshot to kill Goliath. If you were parked on a hill and your emergency break didn’t work, you could stick one in front of your tire and you car wouldn’t go anywhere.
Yet, amazingly, as hard as the outer surface of the muffin was, the inside of the muffin was as moist as sand.
So, because I insist on jacking with recipes in an effort to make them healthier, and since I didn’t want to serve my neighbor weaponized baked goods, I spent my morning making a whole new batch of muffins that contained enough oil to coat a baby seal.
For your viewing pleasure, a muffin photo essay.
Want to know the saddest thing about this? After I took these pictures, I actually ate the muffin. I’m gross.
3. Have I mentioned that I have OCD and alumicanibotulisiphobia? Well, that reared its ugly head this morning. In addition to the lethal muffins I made for my neighbor, I also decided to make an egg casserole. It calls for a small can of diced green chile peppers. I had a fresh, unexpired, undented can so I pulled it out of the pantry last night. Well, this morning I assembled the egg dish, put it in the oven and then it occurred to me that I forgot to do my can inspection routine that I have to do immediately before I open a can. So when I pulled the casserole out of the oven, I tossed the entire thing into the garbage.
The word you’re looking for is “certifiable.”
The phrase I’m looking for is “Shut up. I didn’t ask for your opinion on my mental health.”
4. I logged onto The Good One’s school web site last night. What I read gave me even more confidence than ever that he will, in fact, become an illiterate janitor.
Then I read this:
Then I wept.
5. A conversation between Virginia Slims Man and me this morning:
VSM: What’s with the pillow with the satin pillowcase?
Me: Christine gave me the pillowcase. It’s supposed to help prevent wrinkles and stop your hair from breaking.
VSM: You believe that?
Me: Yeah, why?
VSM: You believe that your hair won’t turn gray if you sleep on a satin pillowcase?
Me: Yeah, the lack of friction means the hair won’t lose pigment as fast and you won’t turn gray.
Me: No, dumbass. It’ll stop hair from BREAKING.
Pray for my husband. He’s a good guy and he lives with a real bitch. I’m really a terrible wife. I grew up in a cult-like church that didn’t permit dating, so I don’t really have any ex-boyfriends, but if I did have ex-boyfriends, they would have really dodged a bullet. VSM is kind of screwed. And not in the good way.
Now that I think about it, referring to my husband as a “dumbass” might be the thing that keeps me out of heaven. We’ll see.