Blips and Quips

I admit, it bothers me sometimes when I'm sitting all nifty and comfy, settled and pleasent--watching Family Guy reruns on TBS--when I get the ole' beckon from another room--seemingly another planet--to "come put the jam back in the fridge."

The mood-buster of the ages.

My either, forgetful nogin, or lazy behind leaves these little gems all over the house. But it isn't until both are engulfed with soft padding that the presence of the little left-behinders are discoverd by the Mrs.

So I do what any loving husband would do in this situation--

"You do it," I yell, while fixated on Stewie's lemon-shaped head.

Well the other night, Ty flanked me from out of nowhere. "Hey bud," she whispered in that you're-gonna-get-some-tonight croon, "I've got a secret for you downstairs, come see." Lured, like homeless to a trash bin, I get all bug-eyed and ancy and follow the siren's tempting voice in a hypnotic trance. Once in the kitchen she let me have it.

"Put the cereal away," she said as she pointed to the taunting box infront of me. My counter call would be no use, for she had cornered me like the prey that I was. I had cereal hours ago, and would no doubt have another bowl soon. But again, her cackal whipped the air swift "Put it away," as she pointed, this time, to the Lazy-Susan in which the cereal belonged. And so I obeyed.

I opened the Lazy-Susan cabinet and discovered an unnatural sight. There infront of me was.....

A gallon of room-tempeture milk.

Ooops.

Then it dawned on me, in my mind I had already put it away.