I got the inspiration for this post yesterday after thinking to myself, ‘What ever happened with D and I challenging each other on blog prompts?’ Most likely the demise came when he suggested a prompt that would take time and initiative and I said, ‘Yeah, well, good luck on that honey.’
I skimmed through the book to remind me which prompt it was that I said no to, when I came up to prompt number 40, Cower Before Us. Basically, list some irrational fears for the amusement of others.
‘I have no such fears,’ I immediately scoffed. But then I thought about my claim to hydrophobia which may or may not be acutely accurate, and thought, what else gets my goat. I went on with my day and then realized I do have a good one. It is completely, manically irrational, yet I still display pangs of lunacy when confronted with it. Here it is:
I hate, HATE those exploding tubes of dough. Sweet mother of pearl, do I. I still had two tubes leftover from when I made that ring o’ goodness which I talked about here and thought that it would be a fine addition to tomato sauce and noodles. Which means I had to get the damn things open. Usually I pawn this job over to J, telling him to be a man about it, but this time I was alone.
And what’s worse is that these were the fabulous Wal-Mart editions, notorious for not opening when you peel back the wrapping. As per usual, the cat was on the bar watching my culinary struggles. I eyed her, then the can. I hesitantly pulled ever…so… slowly… the wrapping away with my heard turned away, eyes shut, and using my non-writing hand. Completely bare down to the cardboard, I cranked up my neurosis by heaving it into the sink hoping it would explode by itself. No luck.
I then tried the other can. This one also would not open easily. I threw it into the sink, which thankfully let the can explode on contact. I jumped and gave a little yelp, which startled the cat, who in turn re-startled me by hearing her almost knock over the bar stools.
All this for some damn crescent rolls. I am such a goober.