So sometimes Eric (my husband who I really like) and I play this cute game called, ‘See how long we can go without grocery shopping.’ To be honest, I’ve lost count. But I’m pretty sure it was around Halloween.
The point is we are running low on resources. And, we are super tight financially because we are getting ready to move, and we are paying rent for two apartments during the month of December, and Christmas, and aliens could invade and we have to finance the queen’s new yacht… you know. The list goes on and on.
But you can probably relate.
So dinnertime is code for adventure time. Because you can only live off of so much Ramen.
Tonight was Salsa Verde Pork Chops.
Delicious, no? We’ll see. They are still cooking.
But in the process I had a kitchen ninja assault.
It started with a can of mild enchilada sauce. Years of eating at Café Rio have taught me that mild sauce equals green sauce. And because I have no affinity toward Latin culture other than I like their burritos, I thought this was a universal deal.
It’s not. At least not at Walmart, because their mild sauce is very much red.
The point is, in our scavenging state, I wasn’t about to waste a whole can of Great Value enchilada sauce, thank you very much. So into the wedding Tupperware it went. (Thank you, random wedding guest citizen. Ahem, thank you notes are forthcoming.)
During the transfer, a small drop of very red sauce spilled on my bare feet.
Oops, better clean that off. But my hands were busy juggling wedding Tupperware and Great Value Sauce and by the time I placed the container in the fridge and the empty can in the overflowing trash, by ADD had taken over and the drop of very red sauce was forgotten.
Not 10 minutes later, after finishing my masterpiece (one can hope), a found myself cross-legged on our white duvet, checking my Facebook laughing at the witty treats the Internet had blessed me with through the most current newsfeed update.
The blessed oven preheat ding had finally dinged and I got up to put the pork in the oven.
Red, splotchy stains. All over my pure white duvet that I am admittedly OCD about keeping clean.
I’m proud of myself that I didn’t swear. And because of the aforementioned stupidity, that’s probably the only victory of the night. Unless my pork chops turn out.
The moral of this story is don’t be dumb. Or ADD. Or OCD.
Also, I’m glad they named the spray remover Shout. Because whenever I use it I hear this Tears for Fears song:
“Shout! Shout! Let it all out!”
And somehow it makes me feel better.
My timer for my pork chops just beeped, I just realized I never actually turned my washer onto a cycle, and my evening consists of wrestling a down comforter into a would-be white duvet.
And what a wonderful night it will be.
This post is one of the first of this new blog, wife tips. Because really, I’m an amateur at this whole wife gig, trying to figure it out one duvet stain at a time.