Taste Is on the Tongue of the Perceiver

Yesterday Hick grilled some bratwursts and hot dogs for supper. For my contribution, I set a tub of one-day-to-expiration Walmart slaw on the cutting block, and opened a can of Bush's Maple Cured Bacon beans. Oh, and I diced an onion, too, because Hick likes to add it to his beans, but not have it cooked with them.

Actually, I offered Hick those beans like he was choosing from a wine menu. I went out on the side porch where he was presiding over Gassy G, and asked if he'd rather have the Maple Bacon or a new kind, Bush's Grillin' Beans, Steakhouse Recipe. At first Hick tried to wriggle off the hook and make me choose, but I grilled him (heh, heh, GET IT? I grilled him, while he was grilling our supper) until he picked the Maple Bacon. Which is just as well, because I only bought the Steakhouse Recipe last week, and when I took the Maple Bacon out of the pantry, the expiration date was June 2018.

Jack was dancing around on the back porch, thinking I had something to give him, when all I had was a can of Steakhouse Recipe beans in my hand. He was actually dancing, like a circus poodle, all up on his hind legs, which is a precious sight to see, what with Jack's extra-long body. He had great balance. He's like the Baryshnikov of half-dachshunds.

"No, no, Jack! I don't have anything for you! I can't pet you. I just washed my hands."

Jack took it pretty well. He looked like he'd just taken a dip in the fake fish pond recently, not dripping, but not dry, either.

I went back inside to switch out the beans. I used my hand-crank can opener, and shook those beans into a copper-bottom saucepan. After first pouring out some of the liquid into a red Solo cup. Not that I was going to drink it, of course. Hick likes his beans like his soup: without liquid. But I added a little bit back, because that's where the flavor comes from.

I moved to FRIG II for an onion out of the crisper. You're probably not supposed to reFRIGerate onions, but I do. As I was grabbing one just the right size for dicing and feeding to Hick, I felt something sticky between my ring finger and bad finger on my left hand.

"Huh. I must have got some of the Maple Bacon bean juice on me!"

Without further thought, I put the onion in my right hand, shoved that crisper closed with my left, and stood up, licking the bean juice off my hand.

Except it wasn't bean juice.

AGGHHH!

IT WAS SOAP!

I guess I hadn't rinsed my hands thoroughly, singing the Alphabet Song, or Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (they're the same melody, you know) to gauge the proper amount of time for killing germs. Perhaps I'd shortcut the process in order to get outside quicker to Hick. No good ever comes of that. And now I'd eaten soap, without even getting in a good string of swear words. Bath and Body Works Deep Cleansing Lemon and Mint!

At that moment, Hick came in to ask me something, but my mouth was so soapy that it's a wonder it wasn't foaming. I guess I bluffed an answer good enough, because Hick went back outside.

No way was I going to tell him that I washed my own mouth out with soap.