A Very Productive Day….
Yes, I know. This blog isn’t about me. However, there are times when Life deals a sorry hand, and one is forced to acknowledge that one is just a cog in the machine…a tiny, itty bitty thread in the web Fate weaves. Take today, for example. My mornings are usually pretty standard: I get up, get Hubby his tea, feed the dog, get the kids going, play taxi, after which I sit down at the laptop and scour the web for news, and visit my favorite blogs, commenting along the way. Sometimes I even do housework! THIS was one of those days. I set out with the best of intentions, y’all. I really, REALLY did. I did two loads of laundry, cleaned a bit, and then this afternoon decided to go all domestic and bake bread. This is what transpired:
I came back from checking the mail, thinking, “Mmmm…baking bread sounds GOOOOD!!”
I start measuring everything out. I clean out the bread machine (ok, not very domestic of me, but shit…baking bread takes FOREVER).
The doohickey, AKA mixing blade is missing. I set down the measuring cups with the water and the oil, and start looking around for it, because I JUST SAW IT YESTERDAY!!
I look around the bread machine, and hit the cup with water, sploshing it everywhere on the counter. SHIT!
I frantically get a dry towel, and start to swipe in huge swaths, hitting the cup with the oil. In my haste to catch the two tablespoons of oil, I hit the oil bottle, which was not capped. Needless to say, this resulted in oil sploshing onto the floor, more than two tablespoons’ worth.
I race to get yet another dishtowel, forgetting for a brief nanosecond THE OIL ON THE FLOOR.
My foot slips, and I land on my derriere. By this time, expletives were flying like flour around the kitchen. The dog gets up from her sunny spot and ambles into the kitchen, with a “WTF is going on??” look on her face. I don’t need my dog to question me right now, especially since she tends to eat dirt, hairballs, and trash.
I get up, run to the laundry room, and strip. I take the clothing soaked in oil and douse it in SHOUT!, praying the oil doesn’t set. I return to clean the mess on the floor, only to find the dog licking the oil. She’s a dumbass.
I gather her by her collar, and lock her up in her kennel, until I finally clean up the floor. Only then do I realize I am still in a state of deshabille. I get dressed, and being the conventional gal that I am, I continue to measure more water and oil, and commence baking a loaf of bread, only to realize I HAVEN’T FOUND THE DOOHICKEY YET!! GAH!!!
Calming down, I ask myself, “If I were this doohickey, where would I be?” And lo, and behold, I find it in one of the little baskets I use to stash the little crap that accumulates around the counters. Thanks be to GOD!! If I had not found it, I would have eaten flour. I was that desperate to have fresh bread.
Stay tuned for tomorrow, when I attempt to make homemade biscuits….
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This is why I find it easier to just do nothing.
I have to agree with you, ArmedGeek… Sometimes, it doesn’t pay to be productive
After that, you should have gone down to the local paneria and picked up their freshest loaf, stopped by the liquor store and picked up your favorite mixers and come home and enjoyed both of them in a nice, hot tub.
Bwahahahah…I’m so glad I know someone who has the same epic days in the kitchen that I do.
BC, I was too tired!
Nicole, I do catastrophe rather well
Holy shitballs, Batman! That does sound like a bad day!
I love homemade bread, too. Used to use the breadmaker to do it, but the fam goes through it so fast, I’ve started making it by hand, 3 loaves at a time. It’s really not that much more time consuming, truth be told, and I keep the extra loaves in the freezer until I need em. Works out pretty well. Not that this would have solved your oil spill….just the doohickey.
LOLOL….too bad someone didn’t have a videocam rolling as you knocked over the water and oil and then did a wipeout….that would have been absolutely hilarious.
Speaking of baking bread from scratch, my great grandmother made all her bread from scratch, and she had a set of shelves in the hallway outside the kitchen that she used to put the dough on to let it rise. She was pretty damned angry when one of us kids ran through that area and accidentally caused the dough to collapse. She was a tough, two fisted old Scotch-Irish woman, and I only made that mistake once.
Ah, another day, not doubt, on the heels of probable perfect poise and agility ruined by total calamity.
Last time that happened to me, I ended up with twelve stiches and a smiley shaped scare swiped across my right cheek…never mind the scrape up my backbone and sore buttocks from where I broke my fall.
How was the bread?
Oh right, the bread!
It came out wonderful, actually. Not a trace of it left at dinner
This has the bones for a great sitcom moment.
I know what you are talking about – the little propeller thing that you lost. My mother lost hers too, except she lost hers when she gave me some banana nut bread. I found it baked inside the loaf. I laughed my ass off over that one.
On a different topic, I just posted a little something you might wanna take a look at over at the Abbey: “International Feast At Joey’s Jungle House Cafe.” Warning, don’t go there if you have a weak stomach, LOL.
One assumes the dog’s kennel was outside? And while placing dog in said kennel, you were in “the altogether”? This being the case, do any of your neighbors now come over asking when you are going to bake bread again?