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Talk about death by chocolate.
I was making some triple chocolate fudge cupcakes for our Memorial Day picnic grub and had a tray ready to pop in the oven while I was focusing my limited culinary capabilities on getting another pan of cupcakes ready to keep the first batch company.
Suddenly, something buzzes by my head super fast, and it's loud and low, sounding like a B-52. (OK, I exaggerate.) But whatever it was, it was noisy, and it did catch me off guard in my intense little baking zone.
I reacted with great bravery, of course -- a big old girly-girly scream, a hop and a skip, a fast wave of my hand past my head and then a full body shake followed up with a desperate, darting look around the parameters of my baking area to see what intruder was in my midst, who this enemy was that I needed to battle with the only weapons I had on hand -- my wits and a spatula. (Doomed.)
I looked no further than the cupcake pan on the stovetop to discover a stink bug had landed head up in one of the not-yet-baked cupcakes and was doing its version of a dog paddle.
I don't have insight on what goes through a stink bug's mind, but I'm guessing it wasn't entirely upset with its situation, unless it wasn't a big chocolate fan.
I'm also thinking there are worse ways to go than neck up in a cupcake liner three-fourths full of batter.
Not being an insect murderer per se, I fished the stink bug out of the cupcake and put him outside to fend for himself (this is truth here) and was preparing to toss the cupcake when Better Half said, "Don't throw that away -- I'll eat it!"
"You want a raw cupcake that a stink bug's been playing Marco Polo in?" I asked this man who's reluctant to waste most anything.
He gave me the half-convincing "yes" look, requesting it be baked first, of course.
I responded with the not-on-my-watch glance, chuckling as I made a 2-point cupcake basket in the garbage can.
Oh, the things that make us laugh.
This would include the fate of Better Half's previous partial plate even though you wouldn't think something of a dental nature would have any humor connected to it.
Well, once upon a time, Better Half had a partial plate that somehow ended up in the pocket of his flannel shirt, then the laundry basket, then the washer, then the dryer.
By the time the discovery was made that something got washed and dried that shouldn't have, it was too late. Oops.
Yes, the partial plate was mighty clean, but mighty small.
After the initial shock, we had a good laugh about it, even accepted the fact that it probably wouldn't generate much revenue at a future yard sale.
Fast forward and Better Half ultimately got another partial plate at the speed of Kiaski (more than a year).
Most every time we're about 15 minutes into the drive somewhere to eat out, he looks at me and says something not always suitable for a family newspaper.
&$#* "I forgot my teeth!!!"
We have a good laugh about that and go anyway, realizing it's probably not the best day to order corn on the cob.
Life is full of laughs.
We were walking at a local festival recently and someone kept calling "Nancy, Nancy!!!"
I didn't respond, given my name is Janice, but it turns out the lady was trying to get my attention. She finally realized I wasn't Nancy, but she said I looked like a Nancy.
I just laughed to myself … whoever I was.