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“The Flood”
I can't help it. I'm an early riser. This morning I woke up at 4:30 feeling great. I walked into the kitchen and found the mess I left late last night. I had watched parts of 4 basketball games and one football game while trashing the kitchen with late-night snacking. Instantly I knew I needed to make amends while my beloved still slept. So I loaded the dishwasher. Now, here is where my good intentions began to go wrong. We have just downsized our living space from a large house to an apartment for our senior years and I had not yet used the new dishwasher. I noticed that the detergent bottle on the counter was smaller than I remembered. However, it didn't occur to me that this meant it was a very concentrated brand. So, I did what you would expect. I administered a manly dollop into the detergent cup in the washer door. I closed the door and started the machine. Seconds later, soap suds began pouring from the machine onto the kitchen floor! I made a joyful noise to the Lord and scrambled to find the mop!
For the next 2 hours I fought the flow of foaming water. It was a Titanic struggle. The tide rolled across the floor and threatened the dining room carpet. The cats ran terrified to the front door and cowered there while I mopped. Soon I was so overheated and overwhelmed by the flow, I removed my shirt and used it to fight the flood. There I was in nothing but my BVDs and clerical collar trying to control a deluge of biblical proportions. It was not a pretty sight. But the battle is now over; victory is won. I have finally burst the countless bubbles. I never knew that bubbles can just sit in the sink forever unless you burst them individually.
NEWS UPDATE! My newly-awakened darlin' just stuck her head in to ask, “What happened in the kitchen?” So I read to her what I've just told you dear readers. She said to me, “Do you not know the difference between dish washing detergent and dish washer detergent? For the machine, you use the liquid in the big green bottle under the sink. The kitchen looks very nice, honey.” Yeah, you think?
In my usual, southern-fried spirituality mode now, I'm trying to identify some learnings from this. I learned it doesn't help in a domestic crisis to phone Martha Stewart for help. She doesn't mop. She's like your favorite television minister. Celebrities don't make house calls! This is why you need a real pastor, not just a good-looking image on a flat screen. If you don't have a pastor and you've got a crisis, call me! I'm not bad-looking and I do make house calls. Please confine your calls to me to spiritual matters. I have given up mopping until after next Lent and I don't do windows.
I also learned that if you are going to create a calamity of some sort, try to make it one that smells good. There is no reason a stumble ought to create a stink. Our kitchen is going to smell like a citrus orchard for days now. It is great. You might want to remember this technique as a follow-up the next time you bake a possum.
Also, I learned that one of the benefits to me in writing this blessed blurb is that I get to entertain myself for a little while each week. This is a big help because so much of current humor is off-color nowadays and I am easily embarrassed. The only thing that would make me happier is if I didn't have to force my sweetheart to read these ramblings. Sometimes I catch her in a weak moment and she laughs anyhow. Then, so as not to encourage me in this, she says, “You are so full of…!” I love her colorful vocabulary! She used to be a Baptist, you know!
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