Knitting Like A Sailor

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Fair Enough.

Hi there! How are you today? Me? Well...I'm fair.

My morning consisted of Kev turning off the alarm so I could sleep in, waking up late to get to the bookstore, rushing to get there before the line was out the door, spending five minutes picking out the supplies and finding the required textbooks, and standing in line for more than an hour to pay for them. I was tired, irritated and hungry from the get go, so I bought lunch for the family at Hardees. I splurged on one of their obscenely large Angus char-broiled bacon double cheeseburger meals with curly fries for myself. All the way home it smelled divine. When I got home, I plopped the bag of food down on the table, went and got my books put away, and had a rest in the rest room. Kevin asked if I minded if he gave the kids some of my curly fries, I said it was okay. I came back out and my plate had half a dozen fries and about a third of a burger on it. I think it was about a third of a burger, but I can't be sure. It was in a few pieces, for one thing, and I wouldn't touch it, for another. I sat down, speechless, and stared at it, then at everyone else around the table as they were happily munching on their fries and sandwiches and chicken thingies.

"What happened to my food?"

They proceeded to tell me that my curly fries had been divided up, and that was my portion. Never mind the fact that no one had wanted curly fries when I called to get their orders, and I specifically asked about curly fries! They didn't divide the straight fries up because they all already had some, and obviously I didn't want straight fries or I would have ordered them.

"Okaayyy, but, what about the burger?"

Well, the eldest asked if he could have a bite and Kev didn't think I'd mind, so he let him. Then the little ones wanted a bite too. Then the eldest said it tasted really weird, so Kev took a bite, and discovered that it had mayo. I don't eat mayo, so Kev set about wiping it off, at which point the eldest saw that the burger had red onions on it. He can't stand onions, so he picked those off, and after the top was back on he took another, bigger bite, a bite the size of which only an 11 year old boy can achieve, because his first one had been ruined by onions and mayo and it wasn't fair that his bite was yucky. To be fair, he first broke off another bite for each of the two preschoolers, who may or may not have put their bites back on my plate, hence the pieces I found. He wasn't clear on anything other than the fact that the bites did start out by being placed in the preschoolers mouths because he was too busy trying to breathe around his 11 year old boy sized bite of my cheeseburger, which he couldn't even close his mouth around. Yes, I'm sure it was very cool.

After having my food distributed, mouthed by everyone, manhandled, picked over, and wiped with a (clean? Hopefully!) dish cloth, I was no longer interested in it. I asked to have one of the four sandwiches I'd ordered for Kev and the eldest. As Kevin apologetically swallowed the last of his second sandwich and said I was a little late in asking, the eldest handed me the remnants of his last one, more than half eaten. I handed it back and told him to finish it, and then we had a long lecture about taking advantage, manners, and being "fair." I was in good shrew form, even though it only appears to have been somewhat effective. Their FULL STOMACHS must have muffled it. It's not like I spoiled myself and cheated everybody else, they had ham sandwiches and chicken thingies, all items they chose for themselves when I called to enquire as to what they might like to eat.

Kevin, newly christened as the man who may no longer live here, made supper to mollify me. It was what he called Kevin surprise, #42. Kevin surprise, #42, consists of boil in a bag rice, hamburger (simmered in water, bleck!) and cheap summer sausage sliced and cooked with the hamburger. When it's "brown" dump it, water and all, into a pot on top of the now boiled, un-bagged rice. Toss in large amounts of random seasonings that might be good with it, with no regard as to how the seasonings might taste together. Let it cook until it looks like a good consistency, the consistency benchmark being hamburger helper. Serve with a can of peas and voila, Kevin surprise #42.

While he made this glop, he also cleaned out the fridge. I was willing to eat this glop, because he cleaned the fridge. I ate the glop, because if I didn't the kids wouldn't, and he made it, and *sigh* he had cleaned the fridge after all. Besides, in all fairness, I was starving.

Kev went straight to bed as soon as his glop was gone, to "get in a nap before his shift this evening." I was rounding the island on my way to rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher when I discovered the real reason for his quick retreat. I was assailed by this...funk...the funk of old food. I reasoned that it must be originating from the leaning tower of pseudo Tupperware stacked in the sink, with the matching Mt Lid-more piled next to it. From when he cleaned out the fridge. As I neared the toxic plastic tower, the scent became more noticeable, and I began to wonder if he had run the disposal long enough. As it turned out, No, he had not run the disposal long enough. Well, he might actually have run it long enough, but there was nothing in the disposal for it to be run upon, since he hadn't emptied any of the containers he had removed from the fridge. He merely removed the lids and stacked the containers inside each other, old food and all, and then proceeded, as is his habit, to dump the used utencils and assorted garbage and debris from cooking Kevin surprise, #42, in and on top of them. Now, none of the left overs were fuzzy, and all of them were recognizable for what they had once been. However, pasta gets this weird sweetish musty wine-becoming-vinegar smell when it jumps the shark, and every one of the nine large containers had some sort of pasta in it. I cleaned it all up, ran it all down the disposal, and added a good dose of lemon juice too. My kitchen still reeks like wine on it's way to being vinegar, but at least Kev cleaned out the fridge.
So, come hell, high water, and anything else the universe feels like throwing at me, tomorrow I am going to drive myself the twenty minutes up to Hardees. I am going to go inside, order a bacon double cheeseburger meal (no mayo) with curly fries, large size it please, and I am going to sit down, eat every crumb that I feel like eating, and not share one iota of it with anyone. I will stay there as long as I choose, and I might go elsewhere when I have finished.
Fair? Ask me if I care.