Whining

     I woke up with a cataclysmic headache, grumped and stumbled my way through the dishes I put off last night, and, having taken an OTC analgesic, I'm sitting in anticipation of eventual relief.

     Why'd I put off the dishes?  There hangs a tale.  Last night, I heated up some Hoppin' John for supper;* I'd planned to add a little canned corn, but I'd used it up and not restocked.  A big can of fire-roasted chilis, simmered in beef broth, awaiting the defrosted gallon-sized freezer bag.  --A bag that slipped in my hands between microwave and stove, and spilled about a quarter of the contents on the stovetop, my legs, my sandals and the floor.  This mess became a short-term emergency, as I tried to clean it up without tracking the mess any further and Tam corralled the cats: bag contents into the big stewpot, bag in the sink, a long reach to the paper towel and a very slow process of cleaning up without stepping in it.  There were Words.  Dinner was delayed.

     We watched an episode of Murderbot (the bot in question is not murderous, per se, but...well, it's a long story and Martha Wells tells it better than I could hope to) and had little ice cream cups as a treat, after which Tam took out the kitchen trash and remarked, "It's about to pour down rain out there."

     It seemed to me that was important, but I couldn't remember why.  I cleaned up the dishes and put the leftover Hoppin' John into a marked freezer bag, to freeze now and discard later.  Outside, the skies broke and it started to rain.  Looking out the back window after putting the bag into the lowest drawer of the freezer, I noticed...the uncovered grill, left from roasting hot dogs and corn on the cob the previous night!

     Yeah, that would be why the rain mattered.  I dashed out and got the cover (a large heavy-duty trash bag) over the grill as the rain proceeded to come down in sheets and bucket-loads, soaking me to the skin.

     Despite the heat, I was thoroughly chilled.  And pretty well over my limit of excursions and alarums for the evening.  Back indoors, I dried off, changed into my nightgown and went to bed, leaving the dishes for later, a problem for Future Bobbi.
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* I typed "dinner," which was the big evening meal in my childhood home, then went back and changed it to "supper."  For many people, "dinner" is the midday meal.  And yes, we called it "Sunday dinner," the nice meal with rolls, salad, mashed potatoes, a side vegetable and some centerpiece meat enjoyed on the second-best china after church.  But the rest of the week, dinner was what you had before TV-watching and bedtime.  (If you were wondering, the best china -- and "the good silver" -- was only for Thanksgiving and Easter, possibly Christmas.  As an adult, I have one set of "china."  I was determined to not have any once-a-year frippery; so instead, I have what's left of the square pink Melmac everyday dinnerware of my childhood, stacked in a cabinet and never used.)