This past Saturday evening started like any other.
I was barefoot in the kitchen preparing dinner. My boyfriend, we’ll call him Man, walked in and said, “where is my dinner, woman?” I’m working on it, Man, I told him. I apologized for having had to stop to give cough medicine to my ill child.
I was in the midst of grabbing green onion to put into my wine infused cream sauce when Man said, “use the fresh green onion I just bought, woman,” at which point he grabbed another bag of green onions and began ferociously ripping them out of the cheap, plastic grocery bag.
It was just a mere second later, while whisking my sauce, that I heard “clink” and then “bang.” Man moved like I’ve never seen him, making me instantly suspicious. I turned my head to the left and witnessed the emergency. His golden, bubbly beer lay across the keyboard of my laptop. I had been using my
crutch Mac to refer to the recipe for my gourmet, almost complete, wine infused cream sauce, minus the green onion.
Time stopped for a second before I watched him drag a thick, yellow and white dishcloth across the keyboard. I turned away and had a Potter moment. You know when the creepy , soul-sucking, evil spirits come and suck out our hero Harry Potter’s breath, his entire being in fact? That. I grabbed the counter with two hands so when my legs buckled, I’d have support.
When I regained my breath, a feeble “ohh” escaped my lips. Man disappeared somewhere, madly twisting and turning the computer to drain it. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay,” he kept repeating from down the hallway. “Not much spilled on it.”
Really? Because from what I saw, it looked like my laptop had been to Oktoberfest.
Desperate to repress what had just happened, I grabbed the old green onion I had been working with and meticulously chopped it up, adding it to my soon to be complete wine infused cream sauce. I began drinking the remainder of the wine and concentrated on escaping to my happy place where I am a lesbian, or single, or a Luddite.
expert in suppressing emotions and catering to others average woman, I still managed to have dinner on the table for Man, my two daughters and one of my daughter’s friends within 15 minutes. Man went into the kitchen to pour himself a well-earned glass of white wine to have with dinner after laying my laptop open, on its belly, with Kleenex underneath the keyboard.
“Hey woman, you used the wrong green onion,” he announced.
And so, my blogging has been somewhat curtailed, Man is out of the Cougar Den and in the doghouse, and my computer is acting exactly as I would have guessed – drunk as all hell.