One might have thought that she had nicked (okay, severed) an artery while whipping up a culinary delight for Hick. Hey! Stop snickering! It could happen! The culinary delight, I mean. I'm pretty sure that if I nicked (or especially, severed) an artery, I wouldn't be here typing this account of The Woeful Catastrophopolypse of '18.
It was Sunday, January 7. I remember it like it was two days ago. OH! It WAS two days ago. I had just returned from town. Freezing rain was forecast for the afternoon and evening, and I'd barely made it home before the unofficial 2:00 start time. It was 1:35 when I set my 44 oz Diet Coke on the counter and went to slip into my lounging-around uniform of striped sweatpants, white crew socks, red Crocs, striped short-sleeved oxford shirt, and (let's not go there at this time) sweatshirt.
Before gathering my lunch to take down to my dark basement lair, I always prepare my drinks. Two bubba cups full of ice (the yellow one to add water to once I get downstairs, and the purple one for spare ice as needed for my magical elixir or the water). Then I add Great Value Sugar Free Cherry Limeade powder to my 44 oz Diet Coke. It was at the conclusion of this step that the CATASTROPHE occurred!
I'd just put the canister of drink mix back on the kitchen counter, and was pulling my hand forward to put the lid back on my 44 oz cup. Somehow, as I reached for that lid,
MY 44 OZ DIET COKE TIPPED OVER!!!
In this instance, I am glad that I'm not more like my mother. She would have given a sharp, audible, intake of breath, and done nothing. Stood frozen, watching. But not Val! I jumped into action, just like that time I saved Baby Genius from choking to death on a candy orange slice on Mom's knee, and DID SOMETHING! I caught that 44 oz Styrofoam cup before it even toppled completely. Like I used to tell my students when they marveled at my ability to simultaneously fling open the heavy wooden classroom door, and kick the wooden doorstop out so that it pegged the door at maximum openage up against the concrete block wall..."I'M A NINJA!"
Even though I righted the cup, some of my magical elixir still escaped! All over the counter! Combined with the now-dissolved Cherry Limeade powder. It was like that elevator opening at the Overlook Hotel in The Shining.
Seeing that I still had MOST of my precious beverage remaining,
I started to work cleaning up the mess. Because who ELSE was going to do it? And yes, I always double-cup my 44 oz Diet Coke to keep it cold throughout the afternoon and evening, with aolder cup that I've washed and saved. If only I'd been cognizant enough to take a picture while the counter was flooded! But alas, I DO have a bit of my mom in me, and inside I WAS in a panic, grabbing paper towels and putting things off the counter out of flood's way. A pic or it didn't happen thought did not cross my mind.
I got the cleanup aftermath, though.
You'd think that Hick might have stumped down to my lair when he came back in the house that evening. To see if perhaps I needed a tourniquet. Or if I'd been performing surgery, and needed an approved method to dispose of the wound-packing gauze that I'd tossed all willy-nilly into the tall kitchen trash bag. But he did not. Hick's pretty oblivious to anything that might require effort from himself.
While the counter cleaned up nicely, my skin did not.
And I might be in need of a literal money-launderer.
I didn't notice until the next day that my yellow bubba cup was also a casualty.
No, slovenly Val does not wash her water cup every day. It's only WATER, by cracky! And there's no dishwasher, save the hands of Val herself. Which might have cleaned up the red hand, though, with enough soaking.
Today, as I adjusted my seatbelt on the way to town, I saw that my sage green snap-front fleeced baseball-style jacket was also a casualty. Too late to turn around and go back. I'll be washing it tomorrow.
Don't want any busybodies thinking they need to call CSI, or check on the well-being of Hick.
Oh, man, I don't know if I can put up with much more of these CSI adventures in your homestead. If you need help, though, call THE GHOSTBUSTERS!
ReplyDeleteIt is quite possible that some day I will actually NEED THE GHOSTBUSTERS! I don't want to call wolf and risk future shunning.
DeleteThat money looks like a dye bag burst on your way out of the bank heist. I'd lay low for a bit if I were you.
ReplyDeleteMaybe my buddy D.B. Cooper can put me up for a few days...
DeleteCheck the well-being of Hick... Or begin the party plans?
ReplyDelete(Here's another reason for you to chuckle: Report cards go home today. You KNOW the flurry of activity THAT involved this week...)
Heh, heh, x 2!
DeleteI'd appreciate it, Madam, if you would stop taunting me with your braggart tales of being a WORKING woman...you know how that tugs at my heartstrings, making me pine for the days I spent shaping the future leaders of our nation.
"my lounging-around uniform of striped sweatpants, white crew socks, red Crocs, striped short-sleeved oxford shirt, and (let's not go there at this time) sweatshirt."
ReplyDeleteIt's freezing cold there and that's all you wear? Where is the sherpa underwear? The fur-lined eskimo suit? complete with fur-lined hood? The mukluks? I'm shivering just thinking about you. oh wait, that's my air-con, better turn that off a while.
I've got quite good at scooping a falling beverage too, except that one time my sleeve barely touched a mug of hot coffee and it suicided right onto the floor.
the cherry red paper towels are what I imagine my neighbours bin looks like, she came to ask if I had a bandaid and showed me a finger gashed open from from tip to almost palm. She'd done it the day before and it had stopped bleeding but she had no more bandaids. I told her it needs stitches, it's a very jagged gash and I didn't ask how it happened, but she won't go to the hospital, probably because they'll check for drugs.
Yikes for your neighbor! At least it probably didn't hurt too much...if she was medicated beforehand. And I'd rather spill a cold 44 oz of Diet Coke than a hot cup of coffee.
DeleteA tale of my winter wardrobe is coming up. Air conditioning would actually make my house warmer.
The tale of the drugged finger in need of stitches brought to mind a doctor I used to work with in the 80's. If he smelled alcohol or suspected drugs, he refused to use Xylocaine to numb before he stitched. Maybe she had a similar experience ....
DeleteHow fair is THAT? I'm sure he was just worried about a drug interaction, not passing judgment...
DeleteYou may have to dispose of those paper towels elsewhere, like in the dumpster at Orb K or the gas station chicken store, otherwise if they are spotted in your trash CSI just may be called in to investigate.
ReplyDeleteI'd probably get a hefty fine if caught, for disposing of assumed-medical waste. I'm pretty sure that's against the law, even in Missouri.
DeleteOMG!! Did you go to the hospital? Or take your cup to one?
ReplyDeleteNo. The only thing that kept me away was the realization that those places are full of SICK people!
DeleteOh buy you should have placed those towels on the top of the stairs. Would THAT have created concern? I, too spilled a cup of soda from Orb K. I watched in slow motion as it flipped completely upside down in one swoop and emptied in a tidy circle until I picked it up, then it ran like a river under the furniture and i had to sop up carpet. If only I had a lair.
ReplyDeleteOh, the RUGmanity! But even worse...you didn't get your soda. Maybe you could have let it sit there, taken a spare straw, and jabbed it through the cup, to drink your magical elixir upside down.
DeleteHeWho would not have noticed the stuff in the trash, either. You have to leave in a highly visible area!
ReplyDeleteI have not discovered a highly visible area yet! It's certainly not the path he walks through the kitchen several times a day, dropping mud clods from his boots.
Delete