Monday, June 25, 2012


"I came for supper," he said, shaking paws all around.
- The Tawny, Scrawny Lion -

I don't know if y'all know this, but DH is a master chef. Actually, check that: a Master Chef.

Not that DH necessarily cooks all that much, but he sure watches the hell out of the Food Network. And, like, eats food and stuff. Via the same means by which university grads with no work experience are *always* the best hires, DHs advanced theoretical understanding has translated directly into applied proficiency. In fact, his Master Cheffery is such that he




but offer other, less masterful chef wannabes - such as myself - handy hints and helpful tips. Because he finds the ineptitude of others so inspiring in his Master Chef missionary work, such hints and tips are frequently doled out to his elated disciples while they are cooking. Cooking things for him to eat.

Call me ungrateful, but if disciples were dwarves, I would be Grumpy.

My Grandma was also a Food Network aficionado, but she took a markedly different tack: because she didn't really enjoy cooking, she poured on the praise for whatever sort of cheffery - Master or otherwise - anyone was willing to do on her behalf. Grilled cheese for lunch? Delightful. How about some Campbell's tomato soup in which to dunk your grilled cheese? Ecstasy! Your burned grilled cheese? Well, heck, she likes things crispy. Just put some pickles on dat shit and you won't even know the difference.

Alas, she's no longer with us to appreciate that I now actually know how to cook. But her top-secret molasses cookie recipe lives on with me, as does her sneaky method of getting out of cooking. Ultimately, my goal is to be the person who just shows up with a string of fish and a big bunch of daisies, jolly as all get out and all ready for another good big supper of whatever anyone else happens to be cooking that night. To that end, Medium Fry is making mini meatloaves* on Thursday and you can bet a shiny nickel that she is going to get an earful of effusive praise over her results - Master or otherwise.

* Side cooked vegetables this time, not even salad. See? My plan is working already!

Friday, June 8, 2012


Top ten reasons my children are in my room in the middle of the night:

10. "I had a bad dweam."
9. "I'm sirsty."
8. "Come wipe my buuuuuutt!"
7. "My eyes are open."
6. "I'm itchy."
5. "Der's a skeleton scwatching in the closet."
4. (vomiting noises)
3. "I was worried about somefing."
2. "I'm hungwy for bwekfist."

(I'd like to take this opportunity to suggest that maybe, just maybe, if they would simply EAT their SUPPER, they would NOT be hungry at three o'clock in the morning ALL THE @&!$%*! TIME.)

(But I digress.)

The number one reason my children are in my room in the middle of the night, although it's never presented in quite so many words, is:

1. Reducing competition.

Think about it: if you're an owlet or a hyena or something and resources are scarce, you can just eat your siblings; if you're a small human and you don't want to share your toys, really, what are your options? Not only are you lacking the sort of hardware (teeth, claws, etc.) that would allow you to destroy them, you have the vague sense that probably get in trouble for trying and besides, you really only like to eat macaroni and cheese anyways.

The solution is to prevent your parents from ever wanting to have more children by rendering them so insane with sleep deprivation and groggy rage that they frequently can't recall what possessed them to think the first ones were a good idea. And just for good measure - in the event they happen to be stupid or placentamental enough to consider having more children - to make it essentially impossible for them to ever have sex again.

Zero propagule pressure = zero little brothers or sisters running around tattling on you and touching your toys and generally wrecking your young life = WIN.