Katastrof!

So last Wednesday in the early evening the small person in our household took herself to the restroom. This was a positive thing as often times she puts off taking any action until it is just a bit too late, and so it’s a good thing my mother enjoys buying many pairs of tiny little underpants for her. And that we are in possession of reliable laundering facilities.

It came to pass, shortly thereafter, that there came a slightly hysterical, teary-eyed small person shrieking incomprehensibly about water, so I sprinted down the hall to find the toilet overflowing. Thankfully, with clear water, no … effluvium in evidence. We took the usual actions; turn off the water, a couple of towels to the floor, plunger to the commode, all with satisfactory results.

Here’s where my shocking lack of cognitive function is revealed: I am about to sully every towel in the house throwing them into the lake that is our hall bathroom, when the brains of the outfit suggests using the carpet-cleaning machine to suck up the water. A tank and a half (probably in the neighborhood of a gallon and a half) of water later and the floor is nearly dry. Brilliant!

Cut to Thursday morning. I get up early and prep the turkey for the oven, halfway enjoying the quiet as I stuff its various orifices – oh the barbarism! I preheat the oven. I clean up as I go. All is going well. Perhaps a little too well… I have purchased one of those aluminum roasting pans at the supermarket as our roaster is too small for the glorious 22.5 pound behemoth turkey we have this year. Although it is cunningly made with a sort of platform on which the turkey will sit, slightly raised from the bottom of the pan, I with my huge brain think, “That little platform thingy will surely be inadequate. There must be some way that I can f*ck this up. I know – a wire rack!” So, barely able to walk upright balancing my gigantic intellect on my shoulders*, I fetch the wire rack from the too-small roasting pan, and load up the stuffed, brined, potentially delicious bird.

Then I pick the pan up to put it into the oven, and of course the pan bends a bit from the weight of the bird, and the wire rack pokes holes in the pan, and the briny drippings begin to leak out, and the world ends, and there is chaos, and a shadow befalls the earth and the locusts begin to plague the land, and there is much cursing and bellowing.

Fortunately J’s sister lives directly across the road, and while I am dispatched to the supermarket for another pan (strictly as a precautionary measure, you see, but while I’m here it would be a shame not to avail myself of this convenient Starbucks within the store), she is summoned with her pan to try it out for size. The turkey just fits and in celebration I procure a round of Expensive Coffee Beverages for the entire household, children inclusive.

This morning I returned to her many shiny items, including the pan, a corkscrew, a serving dish (brought full of extra stuffing, because you can’t have too much stuffing), and a turkey platter. Clearly there are benefits to living across the street from a better-equipped sibling. Doubtless she is starting to rethink the wisdom of informing us, three years ago, that the lady across the street was thinking of selling her house and perhaps we'd like to come have a look at it?

* Sarcasm; I am neither excessively brainy nor in possession of burdensomely large intellect.