Not the 10 worst of my life. Or even of this year.
But certainly of this month.
It starts here:
This is garlic bread. But that's not part of the worst 10 minutes, although it does have a major role.
You know how I don't throw stuff out......this is left over from, I think, Emily and John's wedding in 2016. We had some brat buns left. John had a food saver type machine. The buns were hermetically sealed and placed in my freezer.
I ran across a missed package and decided to test them.
As buns, they were not good.
But for garlic bread, they were ok.
Dinner tonight was a mish-mash. Jackie had some chicken left over from Ralphie and Lulu's Saturday night. I had a frozen turkey dinner. That was not part of the worst 10 minutes.
I made beans, ones we had grown in the garden.
I fed Corki. That was not part of the worst 10 minutes, but it does have a major role.
I had Jackie's dinner in the microwave, the bread in the broiler in the oven, Corki eating, and Jackie calling from the den because she sat too long and could not get up. Everything under control. Almost.
That was not the worst 10 minutes.
I got her up, and headed back to the kitchen.
The garlic bread started to burn. The smoke detectors went off. The one in the hall. The bedroom. The basement. The other bedroom.
Corki started running around like crazy, tail between her legs.
The timer on the oven went off.
The timer on the microwave went off.
We tried to catch the panicked dog. She eventually sat on the rug in front of the TV.....and promptly barfed up supper.
Timers going off. Smoke alarms going off. Dog barfing. Jackie yelling. Me turning on fans.
Finally, after turning off the timers on the microwave and the oven I yelled at the top of my lungs. The smoke detectors suddenly stopped.
I may have yelled a word that rhymes with luck. Or sit. All I remember is, I yelled. Maybe one of my neighbors can confirm my vocab choice. I was pretty loud.
And then the worst 10 minutes started.
I cleaned up the barf. I kneeled on the carpet and carefully washed the area. I got it looking pretty clean, so I took my bag of dog barf and paper towels and tossed it in the garbage in the garage.
Walking back into the house, I noticed specks of dog barf. Lots of specks. The went from where I was standing back to the living room.
I looked at my leg.
I was covered in dog barf. My slipper was covered in dog barf. My supper was cold. My garlic bread burned crisp.
I took off my pants, rinsed them off, then in my boxers, got on my hands and knees and cleaned up the path of dog barf I had tracked through the house.
When I got back to the original spot I noticed the second pile of barf, or what was left of it. Evidently I kneeled in it.
I really did not have much of an appetite at that point, but I ate anyway. That marked the end of the worst 10 minutes. Surprisingly, the food was still tepid.
I had to go out for a while, and while I was gone Corki used the bedroom rug to further purge herself. Twice.
Methinks the man who came last week to clean the chairs will be getting a call tomorrow.
And me? I'm hoping alcohol kills the memory.
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