I wonder what…

September 9, 2005 at 10:22 pm (The Enlightening Ones, WTF)

…root beer scented soap tastes like? I have two bars, the very last of my own soap on hand. Right now I'm tempted to eat one. You see, something odd has happened to some of the food stashed in H'sMa's chest freezer out in the garage. Occasionally something will come out that smells slightly like gasoline. Tonight's disaster was the worst, hands down.

H'sMa made spaghetti for supper–normally a joy for me, because Honey hates sketti and I love it, so I don't get it often. I got my bowlful, then slathered the stinky-feet cheese on top, and dug into a yummy-looking meatball. I chewed a couple times, then stopped and put the fork down. The meatball in my mouth tasted like a brand-new marinade–that $3.00 a gallon shit they pump down at the Sunoco on the corner.

Ah shit, not again. The last two nights my stomach wouldn't handle the meat selection for the night's supper, so I feasted on small amounts of side dish and dealt with it. Looks like tonight I don't even get a side dish.

This presented a problem–I can't stand most hot dogs, so H'sMa decided to make sketti tonight instead of her original plan. So, she's already changed the menu on my account for tonight. How the blue hell do I tell her I can't eat tonight either? She's either going to be mad (I'm getting used to it but the tic in my eyelid is back and we've already had me putting my foot down once tonight) or hurt. How do I explain what I'm about to dump–

My dilemma was suddenly solved by Honey making a mad dash for the bathroom. I have never seen that man EVER spit out anything he has EVER voluntarily put in his mouth, but he did it tonight–loudly. He followed it up right after I asked where the meatballs came from with, "They came out of the garage, didn't they? They taste like gasoline!"

H'sMa pitched the offending din-din, Garand scavenged himself some hot dogs, Honey got something or other. Ma actually ate the spaghetti–said it tasted fine to her! I worry about that woman…

Me? Oh, I'm sitting here with a Ron White routine about his wife's cooking running thru my head. Seems the dog ate her food, then sat down and licked his ass.

Wife: "What's he doin?"
Ron: "Looks like he's trying to get the taste out of his mouth."

Hm…that soap sure smells exactly like root beer…


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