| You couldn't make this up if you tried... |
[Sep. 2nd, 2007|03:33 pm] |
Okay. Just as I said to ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) elfstar18 in a comment this morning that I was worried there were no funny stories in my lj any more, it being too full of tummy bugs and misery, something clearly went 'clink'! somewhere in the universe; possibly the karma fairies deciding that as I'd had a bad week, I should be given something funny to write about? Yeah, right. Anyway, I take no responsibility if you choke on your coffee or wet yourself or anything if you get to the end of this. And no children or animals were harmed during the making of this story; just my pride and dignity (um, and certain other parts of my anatomy, which will become clearer later on).
There are some days when you just shouldn't get dressed. And I don't mean that in any other sense than literally!
First, apologies to all those with a visual imagination. I am deeply sorry for what follows. Oh, and also, to my next door neighbours. (Whom I won't actually be able to talk to for at least six weeks in case they happened to be in the garden or looking out of the kitchen window, and I am SO NOT ASKING IF THEY DID.)
So here I am, recovering from the Tummy Bug To End All Tummy Bugs, and what I discovered in the last few hours is that, whereas normally I get some warning before I get hungry, you know, a bit peckish, then a few more pangs (usually leading to chocolate eating if nowhere near mealtimes, you know the way it goes), then the 'hm, I really ought to go and do something about food sometime soon' feeling before ravening hunger descends - I seem to currently go from -20 (as in, still feeling a bit icky and not really thinking about food AT ALL) to 100 as in MUST EAT A HORSE RIGHT NOWWWWW. (Well alright. A horse made of vegetables, but you know what I mean.)
This being the case, and gripped by a sudden 'must eat! now!' fever, but not wanting to eat anything too dodgy, I thought I'd make a proper meal. Then I dismissed that idea, as taking far too long. What did I have that wouldn't take too long, I wondered, feverishly hunting about the kitchen. Organic brown rice got thrown out in favour of easy-cook white, on the grounds that that saved me a whole ten to fifteen minutes. And then I struck lucky and found a tin of 'Ratatouille Provencale' (which is a posh way of saying a few old veggies in some tomato sauce in French), but that would take three and a half minutes in the microwave. Hurrah! I spent a bit of time being annoyed at the label, which said something to the effect of 'May be used cold, as a salad dish, or may be served hot, as an accompaniment to a main course.' What do they mean, MAY BE?! I'd bought it, I could serve it as a pudding with ice cream and chocolate sauce if I wanted, pretentious wankers!! Anyway. (That's probably what you get for shopping in Waitrose occasionally. My excuse is that I have to take Mum every few months because they do a ginger beer that she likes to stock up on; but the reality is that I wander around with my mouth open looking at all the expensive stuff and thinking 'Wow!'. Except obviously that I sometimes get tempted to buy something too, as evidenced by the Rat Stew. But I digress...)
So there I was, all excited at the thought of being finally about to eat something, because in the few minutes since the HUNGER OF DOOM had set in it had felt like about three hours to my poor deprived post-tummy-bug tummy. I microwaved the rice for ten minutes, took it out, put the rat stew in, buttered a roll to go with it (that's a cob, or a bun, or a bap, or a bread cake, or whatever you call a little round thing made of bread, depending on where you are from. I have NO idea what anyone in other countries calls them, this country is bad enough!), found a yummy tin of Rubicon Passion Fruit fizzy stuff at the back of the fridge (bonus!) and I was all set, except the rice wasn't quite done, so after the ratatouille was done (with added sweetcorn, after I'd found the tin opener after roundly (and wrongly) cursing the departed campers for taking it with them) I popped the rice back in for three minutes. What could go wrong now, eh?
What indeed.
Now, you remember that I said there are just some days when you shouldn't get dressed? Yesterday, I didn't get dressed. I wore my blue nightie with strange cartoon sheep on, that has QUITE A HIGH NECK (note, this is important) all day, quite happily. (Well, as happily as you can when you're in bed still feeling ill, but you know what I mean.) Today, I thought I'd get dressed. So what do I wear? Well yes, pretty much what I always wear: long black skirt, sleeveless low cut black top. I did not, in any way, envisage this to be a health hazard.
You will also remember that I apologised to anyone with a visual imagination, and to my next door neighbours (oh dear, oh dear, please let them be on holiday). Because what happens next is not pretty.
By this time, I was not just hungry, because I wasn't just HUNGRY to start with remember; I was hungry enough to eat a small continent. With chips and a side order of mushrooms. So I may have been, well, unusually hasty and more clumsy even than usual in my movements. I took the rice out of the microwave, poured it into the colander, and poured boiling water over it. Boiling water, over already boiling hot rice. Then I turned from the sink towards my plate, and caught a whiff of the rice. Hmm, did it smell a bit odd? But it was only just out of the packet? I'd better just sniff it to make sure?
All of that happened in a few instants. Just as I raised and tilted the colander to sniff it as I was waltzing back towards my plate - the boiling hot FULL colander of boiling hot rice that had just had boiling hot water poured over it - it occurred to me that actually, that isn't such a sensible thing to do. It occurred to me most particularly in fact, JUST as what seemed to be rather a lot of rice fell out of the colander, and STRAIGHT DOWN MY CLEAVAGE.
Firstly, I do not quite know how I managed to put the colander on the working surface instead of dropping it completely, and secondly, it has to be said that if my neighbours were in, then they will probably dine out for months on the story of how their mad old goth neighbour was seen one otherwise peaceful Sunday afternoon, to wave a green tupperware colander frantically in the air before dumping it on the working surface, and then (luckily they would have escaped me shouting 'FUCK FUCKITY FUCKITY FUCK' louder than Hugh Grant late for his OWN wedding) ripping off her top and bra and hurling them to the floor and then throwing quantities of rice on the floor from her somewhat scalded chest, and then jiggling over to the tap to splash cold water on herself.
(I am sorry if you just choked on your coffee. I did warn you. If you wet yourself, all I can say is, I hope the neighbours are watching when you peg the washing out, and you have to explain, as I may have to. You can't say I didn't warn you...)
Anyway, all's well that ends well, eh? The rice just wasn't the usual kind I buy, and has now been mostly consumed, along with the Rat Stew and the roll, and the nice tin of fizzy stuff. I am dressed again too, except my bra's a bit wet from the wet kitchen roll I had to stuff down it, but at least the tiny red marks seem to have gone away now...
I wonder how much I will have to bribe the hobgoblins to water the tomato plants for the next six weeks so I don't have to face the neighbours? |
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pleased
bloody exhausted
awake
NO MORE CAKE
19 (100.0%)
contemplative
embarrassed