This title could be one of the most obvious candidates for an awesome porno, so I am sorry to disappoint you that this has almost nothing to do with porn.
Yogurt became a featured part of my kitchen decor today. It wasn't really intentional but considering how pissed off I was about EVERYTHING...subconsciously, it may have been. Thankfully, our boxer, Vince came to the rescue. He made sure nearly all of it was safe and sound in his belly before I threw an absolute shitfit over the incident. Les was an absolute witness to this, just so you know. His reaction on the amused/"May I laugh at this?" scale was tipping a 9 to 10 but from the look on my face and the stream of obscenities that came pouring out of my mouth, he reigned it in. For his own safety, I'm glad he did. Though he did say, "In a few minutes, this will be hilarious."
Admittedly, a few minutes later, it was...but I wasn't laughing yet.
I will most likely be in a position to throw some vanilla fat-free yogurt some time again soon, but hopefully it will be in a more porno context. You see, I had happened to be cleaning the refrigerator after having spent a couple miserable hours at the grocery store and I was NOT a happy camper.
I'd been gearing up for this grocery trip since we ran out of milk about a week ago. I'd spent time gathering coupons from newspapers, online sources and catalogues all week, and I was determined to save us money and stick to a grocery budget. I had my calculator, my notepad, a working pen (the ones I like are hard to come by), a typed list of groceries with notes about their corresponding coupons, and a folder that held said list and all 25 of my valid manufacturer's coupons. Yes, I carry a large purse, and I also remembered to bring my reusable shopping bags. This in itself is a task and half since it's hard to keep them with you when you really really need them.
To say that I was stoked and ready for battle would be an understatement. I was ready to get what we needed and Get-the-Fuck-Out.
If anyone knows me well enough knows that I love to go grocery shopping but I would rather be Bill O'Reilly's concubine than have to deal with the Other people in the grocery store. The jackholes who leave their cart in the middle of the aisle just so they can walk all the way to the end of it and look at the different flavors of their favorite pudding off-brand. Or the gems who stand around in groups talking about their colonoscopies and refuse to let you get your can of $.50 garbanzos. They then look at You like you just shit in their milk. Yes, I will fore go all of that, please. This is why I had a gameplan and I had to stick to it, otherwise, Miranda becomes a whole 'nother person. Les can attest to this.
1.75 hrs later, I made it out of the store with my sanity hanging on by my hangnails. It was then, upon returning home (covered in elbow-check bruises and Officer wives' sweat) that I discovered there was a foul odor in wafting from the fridge as I tried to arrange our new nourishing ingredients. It was bad....
I discovered: 2-wk+ old homemade whipped cream....God-knows-how-many-months-old butterscotch instant pudding (this was the smell, and it was so strong, it could be smelled from within a tightly sealed glass container)...a homemade feta/tzatziki/cream cheese concoction probably a month old...and a moldy can of dog food....
Plus, there were still many signs of sticky Dr.Pepper residue from a month ago when Les' soda exploded. It was so bad I took everything out and scrubbed the whole inside, taking out drawers, slide-out shelves, etc. including the upper freezer. This all ended up happening Before I could chance putting in any more new groceries so I was racing the clock in terms of the refrigerated foods' shelf life.
Just as a side note...we are very clean and tidy people, so this situation was a damn disaster for me... seeing as I'm a bit OCD about cleanliness and order.
It was during this flurry of activity that I attempted to wash the Dr-Pepper off the yogurt container and it flipped out of my slippery hands and onto the already-needing a sweep-and-mop floor. I then, flipped the fucketh outeth... Why does Les always have to bear witness to all of these, my little breakdowns? I did not cry, I did not blubber, but I could have, in that moment, made a grown man cry (or at least some small children). I let Vince do his damndest, then I continued on. Country music helped, so thank you 96.9. And of course, Les set to work on the vacuuming and cleaning the bathroom, for which I am very grateful because if he hadn't taken the time to delight in my shitty meltdown and then made-up for it by helping (elsewhere) I would still be busy to this moment. And I would be a whole helluva lot angrier.
I'm in a peaceful place now...that is, until Ivy shits on the carpet again.
