Little Old Lady Logic

November 21, 2005 at 2:24 pm (The Enlightening Ones)

This one has bitten me in the ass far too often in the last six months, so it's rant time.

First, get yourselves comfy, folks–go get a latte, something to munch, and settle back. It's been brewing awhile so it's going to be long.

Ready?

Exasperated sign…then get ready. Sheesh! You should know better than to think I'm fucking kidding here.

OK. Here we go.

Over the past six months a phenomenon has been making my life a screaming hell–Little Old Lady Logic. Little Old Lady Logic is the thing that goes on in a 60+ year old person's head that makes them think all their actions are perfectly fine, showing no signs of mental decrepitude or dementia, but which in fact highlight the fact that they should be strapped to rocking chairs unless accompanied by a younger adult smart enough (and large enough) to take away their car keys when the time comes.

I've been a victim of LOL Logic more times in the last six months than I have fingers, toes, breasteses, and pubic hairs .

YOU–stop trying to count my pubic hairs–that's Honey's job and he gets cranky when someone else fills in.

Anyhow, last night was the topper–once again supper sucked. While I'm getting used to this, and in defense of it I've taken to stashing Pop Tarts and Doritos in my room, last night's incident was avoidable. I actually caught it right in the act, tried to put a stop to it, and fell victim anyhow because I wasn't forceful enough to prevent it from happening. Before you criticize me, though, email me a picture of you smacking an old lady upside the head with a baseball bat, because that's the only thing I did NOT try last night!

I was taking a break from my favorite version of Kill-Maim-Dismember when I noticed H'sMa trying to read a measuring pitcher. She had some milk in it, but was tilting it to read the measurements. I pointed out that she was tilting it and wouldn't get a correct measurement that way.

"I know I'm tilting it, it's the only way I can read it."

"Try using your other, readable, pitcher."

"I like this one."

"But you can't read it and you're going to get too much of whatever you're measuring."

"No I won't."

Since I absolutely REFUSE to sit and play "Yes you will–No I won't" with a septugenarian, I let it go for a minute and headed to the bathroom. This gave me a few minutes to picture yet another totally shitty supper, which I would end up feeding to Honey rather than throwing it the fuck out like I would want to, plate and all, so once I'd pulled up my pants I'd decided to give it another whirl.

"When you tilt the container the level isn't right in the pitcher and you'll get too much in the mix"

"No I won't–I know I'm tilting it."

Stopping the video…There's the LOL Logic in action. Right there. She's tilting the container, knows she's tilting the container, hence she'll get the measurement right because she knows what she's doing. See that–right there–where she totally misses that she won't have the correct measurement because she never looks at a level liquid measurement?

Restarting the video, we watch H'sMa set the pitcher down, add milk, lift it, tilt it, then shake her head. Once again she sets the pitcher down, adds milk, then tilts it again to see if she finally put enough in. We note that when the pitcher's level there appears to be about 2 cups inside; when tilted the milk hits the 1/2 cup mark.

Rather than risk jail time over the irrepressible urge to beat her with the pitcher, I decide to go back to my game and hope she catches her mistake (yeah, the one she's making, I told her she's making, but "No, she's not" making).

Half an hour passes, and H'sMa brings me a bowl of beef stew and biscuits. I smile, thank her, then wait for her to get the hell away from me before I look at the biscuit. The top is nearly burned, but the bottom is the expected gooey, undercooked, hideously gross mass I knew I'd get.

I take the bowl to Honey, swap it for his empty plate, ignore his questions about the meal, and with remarkable restraint take myself back to the computer room, snagging a piece of paper towel to cry into. I was fucking HUNGRY last night.

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