Sometimes I worry that I’m losing my sense of humor. Like the other night when I was hastily throwing together something for dinner before Vince arrived home.
The water was getting ready to boil on the stove awaiting the noodles and the beef and gravy were simmering away on Low. Concurrently, I was washing the glass blender cup thingie from our morning fruit smoothie. Once I realized the water had indeed started boiling on the stove, I left the blender cup thingie in the sink with the water running in order to rinse out the soap. I figured I’d throw the noodles in the pot and would then turn around and shut the tap off.
Instead, I threw the noodles into the boiling water and then had to stir the gravy so it wouldn’t burn. “Low” on our stove apparently means “Boil Vigorously.”
So by the time I turned around to shut the water off in the sink, the blender cup thingie had filled to capacity and was overflowing – all over the sink. And the counters. And the floor.
But rather than roll my eyes and laugh at my boneheaded move, I got all growly. I swear, it was like I’d left the water running all weekend instead of a mere moment. There was so much water everywhere, I was debating whether or not to get the mop and bucket. But I figured if I took the time to do that, the noodles would be overcooked, the gravy would indeed be burned and I’d probably smack myself in the face with the mop handle as I wrestled it out of the closet.
So, instead, I unhappily crawled around on the floor mopping up the water with a towel as more water dripped from the countertop above and onto my head.
And, naturally, it was at that precise moment that Vince arrived home and walked into the kitchen.
Fortunately, he was feeling silly and was (eventually) able to get me to (grudgingly) smile.
And with four hands to handle the work, neither the noodles were overcooked nor was the gravy burned.
So as crises go, this was minor. But there was a time not so long ago when I would not have lost my cool over something so trivial. I mean, it’s not like I spilled a whole bottle of red wine all over the white carpet or sliced off a vital appendage or anything.
Part of it may be that I’m just getting old and cranky. But part of it may be that I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. Instead of “settling down for a long winter’s nap” the night before, I was up at 2 a.m. haunting the hallways like The Ghost of Christmas Past.
When I awoke the next morning to get ready for my day, I did rather resemble Ebenezer Scrooge, so I guess it all ties together.
Ebenezer Scrooge, by the way, probably didn’t need as much under-eye cover-up as I did.
But at least I recognize that I need to regain my sense of humor. And fortunately I haven’t yet morphed into the curmudgeon-y lady who shakes her fist at neighborhood kids who dare to walk across her lawn. But then, this is probably because there aren’t any little kids living in our neighborhood. Besides, I’m not the one who is all that concerned about the lawn. No, that would be Vince’s domain, and if he wants to shake his fists at little kids, who am I to stop him?
Actually, I would love to see that – and it would probably make me laugh. So maybe I should go out and find some little kids and drag them to our house?
Yeah, on second thought, that’s probably not a good idea. Prison would be a surefire way to lose whatever sense of humor I have left.
So I will have to work on this regaining-my-sense-of-humor thing. Like I should probably only look at the funny stuff people post on Facebook instead of the controversial stuff that gets everyone all riled up. And I can only hope that my friends turn into instant comedians and tell me jokes and funny stories.
And if none of that works? Well, I could always take a nap.
But just in case, I should probably buy some more under-eye cover-up. Comparing myself to Ebenezer Scrooge makes me cranky.