Know what we’re not gonna talk about today? We are not gonna talk about the state of my leg. Nope. We’re not gonna address how my doctor’s assurances that I probably wouldn’t have another allergic reaction were, um, optimistic. There is no need to discuss the damage a single yellow jacket sting has wraught on my hapless (and apparently wimpy) body.
Thank goodness we don’t need to talk about THAT! Phew!
You know what I find to be an excellent distraction, at times like this? Putting things in my mouth! Too bad I don’t have a boyfriend! (To… ummm… make dinner for, of course.)
I made a really nice dinner tonight. Kid-friendly, even. Well, I thought it was. (There is no such thing as a Monkey-friendly meal, I’m afraid, unless one is planning to serve nothing but an assortment of pop-tarts.) All of the food groups were represented, and it was quite healthy if you conveniently overlook the pound of brown sugar that went into the chicken glaze.
Renowned food critics Chickadee and Monkey made short work of their assessment of tonight’s fare.
Faced with the candied chicken breasts….
Chickadee: This is yummy! I love this!
Monkey: This looks yucky. It has too much sauce. I hate sauce.
Faced with organic whole-wheat couscous….
Chickadee: *hoovering sounds as she inhaled her body weight’s worth*
Monkey: This is NOT like rice. It’s different. And yucky.
Faced with peas and corn in an herbed butter sauce….
Chickadee: Peas AND corn! WOW! Mmmmm.
Monkey: I can’t eat them TOGETHER. Why did you mix them? Now they’re yucky.
Faced with the offer of dessert….
Chickadee: *displaying an empty plate* May I please have dessert now?
Monkey: Okay. What do I need to eat to get dessert? I could eat a few bites of chicken. But none of that other yucky stuff. But only if I get dessert.
It’s a wonder I don’t cook more often.
* * * * *
After dinner, I started opening the mail. My new mouthguard arrived! Nope, not the fancy schmancy one my dentist recommended… the reasonable facsimile I was able to obtain online for about $12. So. I opened up my kit and read the directions and started boiling water. You know, just in case someone decided to have a baby in my kitchen. Or because the directions told me to do it. Once the water reached a boil, I removed the pot from the burner and waited 30 seconds, then dropped the mouthguard into the water for 80 seconds. Then I dodged two small children asking lots of questions and generally being underfoot to sprint to the bathroom with my warm, steamy mouthguard (ooh! ahh!) to follow the fitting directions in front of the mirror.
The good news is that my mouthguard is now custom-fitted to my gigantic, grinding teeth, and I didn’t melt my lips off in the process. The bad news is that, well, it’s a mouthguard, and I look and feel like a moron while wearing it. I’m wearing it RIGHT NOW! The instrutions suggest wearing it for a couple of hours before bed, the first night, to get used to it. I can tell you right now that I am NEVER going to get used to having my mouth full of plastic polymer while my lips are now unable to meet without herculean effort. Maybe after a while you just lose the will to live and no longer care.
[“Hi, I’m Mir. I used to grind and clench my teeth to the point of cracking them. Now I use Boil-A-Guard to protect my teeth. That’s why I’m slackjawed and drooling, and run away at the slightest sign of human contact, but my teeth are in FABULOUS SHAPE!”]
I fully expect to wake up to one of two possibilities tomorrow morning:
1) I wake up relaxed and refreshed, with the mouthguard MIA.
2) I wake up drenched in my own drool, having slept a grand total of two hours inbetween trying to CLOSE MY MOUTH.
It would be sort of suspenseful if it was a little less disgusting.
* * * * *
Of course, I couldn’t be expected to survive from dinner until now with nothing to put in my mouth. LUCKILY, I didn’t have to! Because GUESS what else came in the mail today! (Ewwwww. You’re sick.)
The most beautiful and fabulous Amy-GO sent me a PIE! Because I am special. And also because I like pie. And because she is a nice lady. And because this pie is so very evil, I would readily believe that it spoke to her, demanding first to be baked and then to be spread throughout the country to unfold its evil across the land.
Yes, it’s evil. Evil so good. Gah, I’m drooling again. Probably the mouthguard. Anyway, this pie, it’s pecan pie with CHOCOLATE and HEROIN and STEROIDS. Or maybe bourbon. Details.
Speaking of details, Amy was kind enough to send me special instructions on pie consumption:
1) Pie is best served warm. WARM, not hot. Hot will make the pie…melt.
1a) If the pie melts, it will still taste fantastic. It will just be messier.
1b) Pie is also pretty darn good ice cold. I’m just sayin’.
2) Pie is also best with whipped cream.
2a) OR, cool whip.
2b) OR, vanilla ice cream.
2c) Frankly, all by its lonesome is just hunky-dory, too. Again, just sayin’.
Not wanting to taint my proper enjoyment of this pie in any way, I had a little bit that I broke off the piece I cut (cold and plain), then warmed it in the microwave and had another smidge (warm and plain), then topped what was left with both vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. I’m fairly certain I was able to maximize the experience, based upon the way I lay on the kitchen floor, afterwards, gasping and twitching with pleasure.
After a while, I recovered and crawled to the computer. I sent Amy email asking her to marry me.
* * * * *
Tune in tomorrow for more exciting adventures! Will I cook dinner again? Will the mouthguard make it through the night? Will the PIE? Could I maybe make a mouthguard out of that pie? Maybe if I eat the whole pie, all my teeth will fall out and solve the grinding problem? The possibilities are endless! Well, not really. But many of them involve PIE!