November 4, 2005
Life in this domicile
Dan left the stove on last night. Again. He swelled himself up on pinot grigio and made one of his signature Careless Quesadillas (of which, I am at pains to mention, he did not share a whit). Why, my dear readers ask, do I fit these quesadillas with the appellation "careless"? They are careless because the final step in the recipe, invariably, is to leave the stove on.
I am fed up with having to get up there and turn it off for him. Every time I do I singe off a few hairs, and of course although this hurts beyond mercy, I daren't make a noise. If I do, they'll wake up and come out and set about an awful fuss: "Oh, are you okay, Zuma? Oh, what happened?" As though I am the one in need of help. 'Tis pitiful.
Don't mistake me, dear readers, for a spiteful lad. I love Dan and Mom, and on the whole life in this domicile is a pleasurable one. But at times, dear reader, at time, it stroooooOOOOOO OOH OHH OOH OH OHHOHO ASDHJAL;JHLKJ:lkj!kl2JL11Q1111!!!!
My goodness, the shame. For the sake of editorial transparency I shall resist the urge to spread veneer over the above lapse in intellect, though it rends my pride terribly. Dan, you see, just scratched my rump.
Posted by FLOG at November 4, 2005 12:46 PM