Another appointment. No time for a proper post, so here’s a silly story from this morning:
Grant is seemingly addicted to curry and has learned to make it with some success I gather, though I cannot sample it myself being vegetarian and intolerant of spices. (My gut, that is)
Like many men (I was going to say most but I’m feeling charitable), Grant is a bit messy. Doesn’t notice things like grease, for example.
Whereas I am neurotic about clean surfaces.
This morning, because Grant had finished his latest batch of curry last night, the container had been washed up and the bottom of the washing bowl was covered in ghee, nasty yellow greasy stuff.
Normally I would have cleaned it then, but I was below par yesterday and I didn’t even look.
So there it was this morning, after I washed up the cat bowls and breakfast dishes.
Grant has a coffee drip and as I turned the washing bowl over, I noticed that the grounds were still in it.
Whereupon, I had a brainwave.
My method for removing grease from the washing bowl is to apply Vim, Ajax, Comet…scrubbing powder. But I had coffee grounds and I said to myself “they are abrasive, why not use them?” and I dumped them onto the greasy mess.
Applied my soapy sponge and wiped, enthusiastically.
All of which was a good plan, except:
Our washing bowl is cheap and not very nice.
When I lifted the sponge, the bottom of the bowl which had been depressed by my keen wiping, sprung back indignantly, spraying the immediate area with greasy coffee grounds.
The immediate area, of course, included me.
So much for that bright idea.
Watching the clock, I next thought about the hummingbird feeders which need to be cleaned and re-filled religiously, every three days or so.
“It can wait till later” said logic.
“The hummers wont have any nectar”, said my brain.
Alright, let’s just do it…
Pulled the sugar packet from the cupboard. The bag was almost empty and how this happens I don’t know, carelessness, probably; an almost empty bag of sugar seems to leak. A spray of sugar flew everywhere.
Cupboard shelf, kitchen counter, kitchen floor.
“We don’t want ants, clean it up!”
Out came the handy dandy Dyson, round the kitchen and the cupboard. Done.
Now why I decided to make my next move, I’m not sure, but I believe there is a message here somewhere from the Universe.
Dyson doesn’t get emptied every time, but this morning I felt I should do it, quickly.
You can probably guess what happened next:
Yes, all over the floor, on top of the bin, on my feet.
So if I have any more bright ideas today, I’m putting them on hold. How much trouble can you get in reading a book?