Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Who Pissed in My Wheaties?

Strange headline, I know, but even stranger is the events that unfolded last night as I prepared lunches for today’s workday.

It’s been a while since I’ve consistently made lunches for J and I to take to work. Usually I’ll at least make lunch for J, but even that has become more and more infrequent. There are several factors that contribute to my lack of consistency when making lunches:

1.Lunchmeat, bread, and mustard must already be in my house. I go to the grocery store once a week, once every two weeks at least, but sometimes I can’t justify the cost of lunchmeat, so I don’t buy it from my usual grocery store and instead promise myself that I’ll stop at the mom-and-pop neighborhood grocery store on my way home to by lunchmeat from their deli, where the quality is great and the prices are $2.99- and $3.99/lb. The problem is that I either forget to stop there on the way home, or I’m too tired and say, “screw it.” I don’t buy all my groceries at the local store, because most of what I buy is produce and low-carb this or low-fat that, and the good, cheap lunchmeat store only sells high-fat/sugar/processed everything else. And they don’t accept checks (I know it’s an old person thing to still be writing checks, but I use checks for all items I budget for monthly and my card, attached to a separate account, for my “fun” items like beer and… more beer!).

2.The kitchen must be clean, the dishes must be done, and the mail must be in neat piles on the table so I have a space to work on. Okay, so in case you haven’t been privy to my neurosis before, you are now. I simply cannot work amongst clutter. I can’t. Maybe I could, but I refuse to. It frustrates me, and if I’m going to take the time to do something nice for someone (J) in the evenings – my time to relax – then all the conditions must be perfect. I don’t want to go into doing something nice and come out of it pissed off and frustrated – or scrubbing the kitchen two hours after I want to be in bed. I’m neurotic. I’ve accepted that.

3.I must be “in the mood.” Yes, much like sex, I must be in the mood to make lunches. If J has pissed me off, no lunches. If I cleaned the entire house that day with no help, no lunches. If I just don’t feel like it, no lunches. Sorry, bologna, I have a headache.

So, here I am last night, and the conditions were perfect: a stocked fridge, a clean kitchen, a willingness to do something nice, and even a glass of wine. I make J his sandwich and decide I will make salads for myself. It’s been a while since I brought salad to work, but I could use some fiber (still on the pain pills). I get everything ready to make my salads: a cutting board, my favorite chopping knife (newly sharpened), lettuce, cucumber, olives, and artichokes. I go to get my special “salad” tupperware containers when I realize there’s something in them. Yellow liquid.

“It can’t be,” I thought to myself. It was quite a bit though – maybe 2 ounces. I smelled it. It didn’t particularly smell like piss, but it also didn’t not smell like piss. I smelled it again. I looked at it. I swished it around in the container and analyzed it. What else could it be? The tupperware sit in a box beside my prep table. I analyze the box. It’s taller than our dog, Calvin, and the dog’s weiner, so it wasn’t him. J hasn’t been drunk in weeks, so it couldn’t have been him either. Did someone else pee in my kitchen?! If so, who?

I wash the tupperware – thoroughly. I wash it again. And again.

“Okay, it’s safe to use,” I think.

I do the old switcheroo with my eyes closed so I cannot tell which container was the culprit, because if I know I won’t eat from it, and really, I’ve washed the fucker three times, so it has to be safe. No reason to throw away a perfectly good salad container, right? I must be an adult about this.

J comes home, and I describe my findings to him.

“Do you think it was Geech? [Anna's dog]” he said.

“No, Geech is shorter than Calvin and Calvin isn’t tall enough to have peed in the box, so it can’t be Geech.”

“Well, I don’t think it was me,” J says.

Funny how we both take this so lightly. After all, we both know the perils of too much whiskey and the effect it may have on a man, thinking the closet, a box, or the TV is a toilet after a bit too much to drink. Alas, I know it wasn’t J, because he hasn’t been drinking.

It’s a mystery. Was it piss? If so, whodunit? If it wasn’t piss, what was it? Why was it yellow? And how did it get there?

I ate my salad for lunch today, but I couldn’t help but wonder if the container I was eating out of was the mystery piss container. I sucked it up, tried to put it out of my mind, and ate my salad. After all, I spent all that time preparing it, and I could use the fiber.

5 comments:

Betty Beatdown said...

Oh. My. When was the last time Alex was over?!?!?!

Megan said...

I'm speechless. Are we sure it wasn't J?

Cindy Lop-her said...

IT WAS NOT J. SERIOUSLY!

reet said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
reet said...

i couldn't hold it. sorry :(