"Maybe we should send a dove to fly out and see if there's any land which isn't buried under snow..." I remarked."You know, the Noah's Ark jokes are getting old," Blaine replied smartly. "And besides, Noah was in a FLOOD, not a blizzard..." Stung, I briefly considered making a sarcastic crack about Donner Pass but thought better of it, since that would be in poor taste. Get it? "Poor taste"? I know, I know.... pretend I never said it...... Throughout the morning, as I sat knitting on my "Mystery Project" with a bemused expression on my face, Blaine proceeded to methodically lay out his ingredients for the kabobs--- the container of meat marinating in Blaine's own marinade mixed with "secret ingredients" (that he won't even tell his own mother), and a stack of pita breads to "wrap" the kabob meats with. Even when he asked me to chop up some onions and tomatoes for the "relish", I didn't comment--- but my smirk said it all. And then , as Blaine waited patiently, staring out the window with an expectant look until about 4:30 pm..... ...suddenly, like magic..... ...the dadgum snow began to melt. "But the BBQ-PRO is still iced shut and you'll never get that propane to flow," I reminded him, thinking a little snottily to myself that he was STILL foiled in his grilling intentions. "No matter," he replied, unconcerned, whistling to himself..... (I think it was the tune to "Day-O" by Harry Belafonte......) Puzzled, I stared at him as he cheerfully whistled his way down the steps to the basement.... ...and then returned with a bag of charcoal which --- after he daintily, and with a dandy wrist flourish, brushed the snow off a little appliance I had forgotten about --- he triumphantly proceeded to open --- and then began plopping charcoal chunks, one by one, into his portable table-top Weber charcoal grill....while loudly whistling the tune to "Plop Plop, Fizz Fizz, Oh What a Relief It Is" ..... ... and danged if Blaine didn't proceed to GRILL ON SUNDAY. (You know, those dang kabobs were lairpin'....) *
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
My trouble with ice-cream trucks began quite a few years ago, right after I had married Blaine. I'll tell you about it here so that you can understand my frustration with ice-cream men.The Texas Ice-Cream Truck Incident: At that time, Blaine and I lived in a suburb near Austin, Texas, called Pflugerville. And one day I heard the ice-cream truck coming--- and I ran out of the house barefooted like an idgity bat out of hell. But the minute I left the front door I knew I would have to speed it up even further because the stupid ice-cream truck was rolling down the street somewhat rapidly. I soon caught up with three other little kids who were running after the truck too--- and the four of us raced down the street together. One of the kids was slightly pudgy and couldn't run as fast as the rest of us--- and I felt kinda sorry for him because I knew that he'd never catch that truck on his own. Down the sidewalk we raced--- but the truck was going so fast that I feared it would get away from us. I knew it would be up to me---the fastest runner-- to catch the stupid thing. So, thinking I could cut it off at the streetcorner, I took a detour through a neighbor's yard.... not realizing until it was way too late that their unkempt lawn was chock-full of the dreaded Texan sticky-burrs... ... and I fell DOWN like a sack of rocks. I had hit those sticky-burrs and instantly started stumbling--- then fell down altogether and started tumbling, rolling over and over myself while screaming in agony as my poor feet now had umpteen-eleven horrible sticky-burrs embedded in them----and then I screamed even more after all three of those other little kids--- who'd been hard on my heels--- all subsequently tripped over me when their own little feet were punctured by the evil sticky-burrs... ......and then all four of us ended up flopping around on that damnable lawn like beached flounder, screaming and holding our painful feets...
And none of us ever did catch that damn ice-cream truck.
Where was I?Oh yes, I'm pissed off at the ice-cream man. Again. Anyway, so the other day I heard the ice-cream man coming for the first time in the season. And although I was happily knitting on my second Pinwheel Sweater (one into which I'm trying to put a lot of the colors black and red--- with some fair-isle patterns thrown in), ...and Leonard was innocently trying to sleep on me... ...I threw down my knitting and unceremoniously shoved poor sleeping Leonard aside--- ...and I shot out the front door. (Okay, and so I might have been using Little Baby as a footstool at the time--- and I may have accidentally stomped her in my haste to catch the ice-cream truck--- but I'm sure she'll forgive me come Tuna Time...) But things did not go as I planned--- ...and everything degenerated into a very bad deja-vu nightmare of that Pflugerville incident all over again.
And then this one.EEGADS.....
Alas! What in the Sam Hill is going on in Ice-Cream-Truckdom?
I had no idea that the ice-cream truck business could ever be anything but happy, fun, and Mom's-Apple-Pie, you know? But I was undaunted. After reading those startling revelations, I called the Frosty Treats company on the phone and asked for the manager.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Friday, March 06, 2009
"I most certainly did not," I replied flatly, quickly deciding in my head that I was tired of his snobbery and that I was most certainly NOT going to go down for this caper since he was being such a Neanderthal about it.....
"I can't believe it," I replied solemnly, with what I hoped was a crushed look on my angelic face. "You must have forgotten. Oh, how typical for a man."
"For shame, you forgot our wonderful night --- that special night when you opened the wine!" I continued, almost astonished at the ease which the bluffing statements flew out of my mouth. "It was the first time you ever told me you loved me! And you can't remember it!"
(In the back of my mind I was beginning to wonder if I would go to hell for bluffing...)
"Uh...wait a minute," he mumbled, struggling to remember--- frightened that he couldn't.
"See? You don't remember!" I replied with a little sob, going for the jugular. "You must have been drunk that night and just told me that you loved me to get lucky! Oh, how cruel! And here I thought it was the happiest night of my life!"
(Maybe I could convert to Catholicism and do some sort of "penance" for bluffing???)
"Now hold on a minute," he said hastily. "I do remember.... uh.... wasn't it that night we went to the Old Ebbit Grill? Yes, that's it! Of course I remember, sweety!"
And then he added--- just to be sure I was convinced---