Last night I learned that when cooking bacon for BLTs, I must be sure to have snacks handy with which to fend off the hungry and marauding husband who will inevitably come round to prowl the kitchen, seeking what he can devour.
Mine managed to make off with a piece of raw onion (He likes that stuff; it's the farm boy in him), a small packet of Cool Ranch Doritos and a piece of bacon snatched off the pan and still so hot that he could only take one bite before hopping around and blowing.
He also paused to fiddle around with my stove and burners, which was the last straw. At that point, he was unceremoniously ousted from my domain. He has these crazy theories about "simmering." Simmering, to him, means turning off the source of heat and letting the food get cold and undercooked while saving energy.
I had to sew a patch onto his overalls, which are officially called something I can't remember. It's an acronym, naturally. He hadn't worn them since his promotion...gosh. That was two years ago. He passed the board right before he deployed.
Anyhow, he had to wear them today, because he is going to be demonstrating the capabilities of an older model tank for a foreign general (and his American general escort) who is thinking of purchasing some. I think it's pretty awesome my husband was given this assignment.
He went through a dry run yesterday and came home so exhausted that he fell asleep in the middle of watching his movie and I didn't catch him until way too late. I was reading. By the time I put my book down and went to investigate, he'd been asleep for hours.
After five minutes, I very nearly went and got water to pour over him. I really thought about it. He kept opening his eyes, grinning and then toppling slowly back over onto the couch. I thought he was pulling my leg. I kept threatening dire consequences if he was joking.
He'd be all, "Wait! Wait! Calm down. Why can't we talk about this?" and then slowly side back down and I'd have to grab the shoulder of his tee shirt and jerk him upright again. I finally got him to stumble off to the bed. I would have left him there, but I know he gets very anxious if he isn't next to his alarm clock. He's never, ever been late to work since he signed up. Not once.
When he actually did wake up, in the middle of the night, he was amazed, and couldn't remember a thing. I got a lot of loving kisses for my hard work and before he left this morning, he gathered me up in his arms and told me I was a good kitten.
Boy, was I ever right about making that change to Torii. Which prompted me to come up with one of those sayings that sound more wise than they really are: only two things are necessary to create a story- the audacity to write your guts out and the determination to rewrite the hell out of that.
