Dewed in...

Something in me is wired to cook heavily on Sundays. Try as I might, I can't completely undo the urge to embark upon some description of kitchen production on that day - something that will have me planning out processes and stages, usually stuck (but happily) working for a few hours. Yesterday, I decided to make lasagna. So I jotted off to the grocery store to gather lasagna supplies along with the few things I forgot to grab while I was there Friday afternoon. Among those things I forgot was a two-liter bottle of Mt. Dew for Didgeridoo Boy.

How in absolute hell I managed to crack a hole in that bottle of Mt. Dew getting it into the car I do not know. I didn't notice at first. Drove to the gas station, fueled up the car, took the longer, more pleasant drive back to the house enjoying having command of the car stereo. When I was almost home, I caught a whiff of something citrusy, but thought it was my perfume. Pulled into the driveway, and noticed the plants in the front flowerbeds and on the stoop needed water. Took care of that, and took my time doing so. Having just power walked around Publix, I was rather enjoying moving slowly. After I watered the plants, I put my purse and keys in the foyer, and meandered back out to the car. Upon opening the door, I was struck by the heavenly aroma of a loaf of bread I'd just picked up from the bakery. My, it was nice, and I marveled at what a warm car could do for a loaf of bread. I took that in for a few moments before deciding to unload the car. As I started to do that, it dawned on me that I might want to get the heavy bags out of the way first. I reached for the bag containing the two-liter of Mt. Dew and a bottle of apple juice, which I congratulated myself for remembering. Finally, I could make the iced herbal tea from my Barefoot Contessa cookbook. I took another whiff of the bread aroma, and picked up the bag.

There was fluid in the bottom of it, and when I put my head over it to look in, I detected the slightest hissing noise. Felt something, too, that I couldn't figure out. Pulled away from the bag for a second, then went back. There it was again. Hissing, and a feather-light sensation right in the middle of my forehead. Oh, yes, it was Mt. Dew. I shouted something not fit for children to hear, grabbed the bag - cradling the bottom so it would not burst, and ran into the house.

That was not a good idea, but at the time I wasn't thinking very clearly. I should have done a lot of things other than run through the house to the kitchen with a bag full of Mt. Dew and a spewing bottle of the same. Put the bag on the counter, creating a little Mt. Dew waterfall onto the floor, and "located" a pitcher. It was right in front of me, but in my sugary drink-shocked hysteria I didn't "see" it. Poured the remaining 2/3 of the bottle of Mt. Dew into the pitcher, and secured the lid. Remembered right then what carbonation can do, and opened a small ventilation space. (I wish I hadn't done that. Seeing the lid fly off that pitcher would have made my night.)

While I was cooking, I was also trying to un-sticky the kitchen floor. Every time I thought I had it done, it would dry right back to being sticky. It is still sticky, after no less than seventy three attempts to get it all up. Every time the Jupiter Kitten walks across it, he does the little prancy paw-shaking walk, and Totsi the Dog looks downright confused. In my cleaning attempts, I managed to spread it around - so about half the kitchen floor is annoyingly clingy. Today's domestic project is deglazing the kitchen floor.

I should probably get back to that before Didgeridoo Boy starts experimenting with all the various noises he could make by walking across it with different things on his feet, like foil wrap or plastic grocery bags. Hadn't thought of that possibility until just now, and am seeing the potential for high domestic disaster in it. Enjoy your day - I'm off to the kitchen.