Where is my ticket to the insane asylum?
It's Saturday, I slept in a little bit. I got up, I had breakfast. After breakfast, I decided to check the status of the pudding I made last night (and ate some of). No one else was interested in it last night so I was thinking there would be plenty to use as a good Cheerios chaser.
So I open the door to the fridge. I see the pudding bowl. I take it out. I look in the bowl. Someone had cleaned out the pudding leaving only a spoon-sized glob at the bottom of the bowl.
No, I'm not mad that whoever ate it ate it (well, yes I am actually. I wanted that pudding). I'm mad that he or she ate only enough to leave that little smidgen of something that meant he or she technically didn't have to put the bowl in the sink (which, by the way would have required MUCH less work than opening the fridge door, leaning over, squishing the moldifying mushrooms out of the way and setting the bowl in the cleared space) because there was still "some" left in the bowl.
And the first facial tic of the day develops and I haven't even gotten out of my bathrobe!
So left in the lurch by the person who will do anything to avoid putting a bowl in the sink (and who is also a pudding thief), I went downstairs to blog about it.
And found that one of the cats (probably Magic, whom I have observed doing strange things like this; he has a strange taste for plastic) had gotten into a sheaf of page protectors and licked them all into a big pile of plastic translucence. The previously new page protectors WERE new (they were in a plastic wrapping) but now they have been stepped on, fanned out, wrinkled, poked with little pointy kitty claws, mangled, probably sat on by a kitty butt, and licked to the point of page protector coma. Do you know how difficult it is to repackage wrinkled page protectors? Page protectors, by nature, are slippery beings too, so restacking them is an exercise in futility.
So now, having been awake merely half an hour, I have two facial tics and a faint desire for strong drink.
Help.
So I open the door to the fridge. I see the pudding bowl. I take it out. I look in the bowl. Someone had cleaned out the pudding leaving only a spoon-sized glob at the bottom of the bowl.
No, I'm not mad that whoever ate it ate it (well, yes I am actually. I wanted that pudding). I'm mad that he or she ate only enough to leave that little smidgen of something that meant he or she technically didn't have to put the bowl in the sink (which, by the way would have required MUCH less work than opening the fridge door, leaning over, squishing the moldifying mushrooms out of the way and setting the bowl in the cleared space) because there was still "some" left in the bowl.
And the first facial tic of the day develops and I haven't even gotten out of my bathrobe!
So left in the lurch by the person who will do anything to avoid putting a bowl in the sink (and who is also a pudding thief), I went downstairs to blog about it.
And found that one of the cats (probably Magic, whom I have observed doing strange things like this; he has a strange taste for plastic) had gotten into a sheaf of page protectors and licked them all into a big pile of plastic translucence. The previously new page protectors WERE new (they were in a plastic wrapping) but now they have been stepped on, fanned out, wrinkled, poked with little pointy kitty claws, mangled, probably sat on by a kitty butt, and licked to the point of page protector coma. Do you know how difficult it is to repackage wrinkled page protectors? Page protectors, by nature, are slippery beings too, so restacking them is an exercise in futility.
So now, having been awake merely half an hour, I have two facial tics and a faint desire for strong drink.
Help.
Comments
Magic was probably only trying to help by de-staticing the plastic covers.
Pesky cats. I do think it's funny that a cat has a fascination with plastic. Sadie has discovered my yarn. When we were in SD I decided to bring along the girls' berets that I'm crocheting. When I pulled out Mimi's, the yarn string had been chewed. I could tell it was a cat because both ends were crunchy. Do you remember Harvey and his obsession with my sponges? CATS!!!
Cats are too funny. But plastic is an odd obsession for a cat. Weird.