I trust I shan’t surprise any of my Gentle Readers by stating plainly that my household is a bit off-axis for American middle-class households on the fabled Island of Long. And of course, over the years I’ve become accustomed to a somewhat oddly slanted modus vivendi. When your chief worry is whether the accumulation of books is crowding out the furniture, your organizational maunderings are about keeping the various calibers of ammunition proximate to their guns, your cats hold nightly redecorating sessions centered on scattering your towels around the living room, your giant dog routinely rests his chin on the dinette table at dinner time, and your spouse can be found with her eyes fixed to the clock at 2:59 PM (Eastern Time), counting down the seconds until she can joyously shout “Snort Time!” you become indifferent to suggestions that the two of you might be perfectly at home in a sanitarium. As long as it has a nice hot tub and broadband Internet access, at least.
Even so, now and then I’ll encounter a...feature of Ye Olde Homestead that strikes me as above-average bizarre. Today in my kitchen, at 04:33 EST, I found this:
There was just something odd about that little arrangement. I know, I know: a giant unconsumed potato has to be somewhere. But in a decorative ceramic bowl atop Beth’s baking unit? It seemed to call for an explanation:
CSO: What are you staring at?
FWP: Could it be any more obvious?CSO: (looks down at the potato) What’s the big deal? It’s for dinner.
FWP: All by itself?
(Trust me: Though it might not be obvious from the photo, that spud is large enough to overfeed a family of four. At this point my Skull DJ put Tom Paxton’s little ditty “Stop! Don’t Slay That Potato” on my internal jukebox and turned up the volume.)
CSO: No, silly, with meatloaf and creamed spinach.
FWP: Sweetie, that’s just wrong.CSO: Why?
FWP: You plan to serve BryantCorp’s sacred creamed spinach, found at only a single restaurant in all the world, with meatloaf? C’mon!
Beth started to sputter, whereupon I burst into song:
FWP: ♪ Oh, I would eat anything for love; ♪
♪ I would eat anything for love; ♪
♪ I would eat anything for love... ♪
♪ ...But I won’t eat that! ♪
And I alone am escaped to tell thee.
(Apropos of nothing, today is the feast day dedicated to Saint Thomas of Aquinas, the Doctor Angelicus, the foremost intellect of the Middle Ages and the greatest of all the Doctors of the Church. I understand that he, too, loved to eat and drink, so celebrate appropriately.)
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