What a pain in the ass
It just took me five whole minutes to settle myself into a chair. I've been busy, you see. Busy flinging myself down flights of stairs with casseroles of broccoli. And now I am black-and-blue in the most inconvenient place for a person who can't do all that much walking and standing.
What happened was (because I know you are all dying to know), I slipped on the bottom stair while carrying a casserole dish containing broccoli (there might be a quiz, so remember, it was a CASSEROLE DISH containing BROCCOLI). Thus, I could not see my feet and could not navigate where to place my foot on the stair and I overestimated how large the stair actually was and okay I had a big glass of wine with dinner and that's probably why I slipped. Shoot me.
So, Paul heard me fall and ran at lightning speed to see what happened. I, of course, was curled up in the fetal position at the bottom of the stairs, wailing in agony, and rubbing my behind. He helped me up, picked up the (casserole) dish (of broccoli), and said, "Oh, too bad, it chipped." So now I feel even worse because my leftover broccoli (which was in the casserole dish) might have glass chips in it and it will have to be thrown away. The horror! (I come from a family who adores all vegetables, so it's a mortal sin to waste them.) Dragging myself up the stairs, rubbing my butt, and moaning about the possible loss of my broccoli (which was in the casserole dish), I begin to wonder where Paul went. I stumble into the kitchen, glass chips falling off my shirt, and I see him standing at the stove happily scooping himself seconds on pasta. THIRTY SECONDS after my near-death experience, and he's already back to being worried about his stomach. When I express my displeasure with his lack of concern, he's all flabbergasted and says, "What else am I supposed to do? I'm still hungry!" Ah. Well, okay, then.
In search of some genuine concern for my well-being, I call my mother today and tell her, "I fell on the stairs yesterday when I was bringing the broccoli [en casserole] downstairs to put in the refrigerator!" And she said, with concern, "Are you okay??" I said, "Yes, but..." And then she interrupts, with even more concern, "What about the broccoli? You didn't have to throw it away, did you?"
I know! I mean, food is very important on my list of, well, Important Things, but come on. It's kind of sad when your LIFE is less important to people than pasta and vegetables.
Anyway, my ass hurts. The End.
What happened was (because I know you are all dying to know), I slipped on the bottom stair while carrying a casserole dish containing broccoli (there might be a quiz, so remember, it was a CASSEROLE DISH containing BROCCOLI). Thus, I could not see my feet and could not navigate where to place my foot on the stair and I overestimated how large the stair actually was and okay I had a big glass of wine with dinner and that's probably why I slipped. Shoot me.
So, Paul heard me fall and ran at lightning speed to see what happened. I, of course, was curled up in the fetal position at the bottom of the stairs, wailing in agony, and rubbing my behind. He helped me up, picked up the (casserole) dish (of broccoli), and said, "Oh, too bad, it chipped." So now I feel even worse because my leftover broccoli (which was in the casserole dish) might have glass chips in it and it will have to be thrown away. The horror! (I come from a family who adores all vegetables, so it's a mortal sin to waste them.) Dragging myself up the stairs, rubbing my butt, and moaning about the possible loss of my broccoli (which was in the casserole dish), I begin to wonder where Paul went. I stumble into the kitchen, glass chips falling off my shirt, and I see him standing at the stove happily scooping himself seconds on pasta. THIRTY SECONDS after my near-death experience, and he's already back to being worried about his stomach. When I express my displeasure with his lack of concern, he's all flabbergasted and says, "What else am I supposed to do? I'm still hungry!" Ah. Well, okay, then.
In search of some genuine concern for my well-being, I call my mother today and tell her, "I fell on the stairs yesterday when I was bringing the broccoli [en casserole] downstairs to put in the refrigerator!" And she said, with concern, "Are you okay??" I said, "Yes, but..." And then she interrupts, with even more concern, "What about the broccoli? You didn't have to throw it away, did you?"
I know! I mean, food is very important on my list of, well, Important Things, but come on. It's kind of sad when your LIFE is less important to people than pasta and vegetables.
Anyway, my ass hurts. The End.
posted by Karen Monday, October 09, 2006
4 Comments:
so, um, was the broccoli okay then?
Wiseass.
LOL
I love your posts. My life is so boring.um did the broccoli have chedder cheese on it? Damn now I want some broccoli soup.
No, it was broccoli with garlic and oil. And it was REALLY GOOD. I ate the rest of it yesterday and I'm still alive. If there was any glass chips, I wasn't aware of it. LOL!
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