I haven't reported on many incidents recently. Mostly because we've been busy, strangers passing in the night. Actually, workout buddies passing in the morning, but lets not get technical, right? Well, last night was a blog worthy incident, the star of which was yours truly. The incident? Corn. The reason? Sangria.
It all started innocently enough. We had leftover sangria from camping last weekend. It was just sitting in the fridge, in a pitcher, all lonely. I decided that it would be a nice and refreshing way to cap off our weekend. So, while Nick was mowing and my strawberry shortcake biscuits were in the oven, I poured myself a glass. When I say glass, I mean over sized goblet, but again - that's just a technicality. So there I was, in the kitchen, with my biscuits baking, sangria in hand, clipping coupons. It was truly a desperate housewives moment.
I had decided that whatever sangria was left after yesterday was getting pitched, so I continued drinking on the front porch. I just saved the aggravation and had Nick bring out the whole pitcher. Picture this - me on the porch, half drunk, frantically crocheting baby blanket #3 of 5. This would have gone better if I hadn't inhibited my coordination, which resulted in me having to rip a bunch of it out and redoing it. No worries, I just poured myself more sangria.
Time for dinner. I march myself inside - goblet in one hand, crochet bag over my shoulder, pitcher in the other. We sit down to eat and are having a nice conversation about something. We finish our steak, potato and ear #1 of corn. Nick finishes ear #2. I go back for my 2nd ear and bring it to the table to prepare - adding butter and salt and more butter and more butter and more butter. I don't know what I was thinking. There was so much butter on this thing that it wasn't even melting. It was spread like icing. It wasn't even butter, it was Smart Balance, which doesn't even 100% give you the taste of butter.
Nick looked over at me and did a double take. At this point, I'm already coming down with the giggles because of the sheer volume of butter covering this corn. He shook his head and said something about the quantity of butter-substitute that I was about to consume and told me to stop right there (because that much of anything isn't great for one's digestive system). He got up to get a paper towel that he was going to use to WIPE OFF MY CORN. So of course, me being Mrs. Drunky McDrunkerson, I begin INHALING the corn. Taking frantic bites across the ear, only because he told me not to. Think Looney Tunes character eating corn...that was me. I was probably snorting and breathing heavily. I don't 100% recall. At this point, there is now corn everywhere and butter-substitute all over my face. In his calm, cool and collected fashion, Nick comes to the table, takes the corn out of my hand and wipes it with a a paper towel. My mouth is full of corn, but I feel the inevitable laughing fit coming on. I'm trying to chew but its not working and Nick is standing there with the buttery paper towel, shaking his head, and this is making me laugh even harder. Then he tells me not to choke, and then its over.
I run over to the garbage can to spit out the corn because it was making its way into my lungs. This whole time, Nick is still calmly watching this whole thing unfold. I go over to the sink, still laughing. He said something funny and MORE corn shot out of my mouth onto the wall and cabinets. He calmly said, "clean that off of the cabinet."
The laughing fit had subsided and I went back to the table and finished my not-as-buttery-as-before corn and that was it. The incident had come down on our dinner like a summertime thunderstorm in 90 degree weather, as refreshing as a nice cold goblet of sangria.
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