It’s been a barrel of laughs around here lately. Similar to a barrel of monkeys, but with less monkeys. Considerably less. Although now I think about it, one of the dogs has suspiciously prehensile front feet. He can get the lid off a Coke bottle faster than I can.
Mr. T is sick, wide-screen-with-surround-sound kind of sick, with special features including the vomiting and the foetal position and the incoherent listless whimpers. I really, really don’t want to get this particular illness. Head cold? Fine. Touch of the flu? Bring it on. Heaving, racking spasms involving long hours stretched prone on the bathroom floor through lack of energy to stagger back to bed? Not really my scene. Regardless, I do my Required Part, which involves bringing water and tempting food morsels (not required, for fear of regurgitation) and dealing with the house and phone calls and dogs and a very angry cat. (I don’t know why he’s so angry. Maybe he’s found out he’s adopted?)
However, the end is in sight. Mr. T is feeling a bit better today, thanks for asking, and requested his special Comfort Food for dinner, which is macaroni cheese. For the love of God. I hate macaroni cheese. But I dutifully complied and made macaroni cheese, including (by specific request) the bacon all crispy fried and chopped up. It is a measure of my disdain for this meal that I had to consult a recipe to make sure I was not just basically making a cheese sauce with pasta shapes. Turns out I was, and this was actually correct. So eventually dinner was created, ladled gently into a small bowl and offered to his Sick Majesty, who was wrapped up in the mohair throw rug (my rug! mine!) and slumped on the couch watching TV.
He ate six bites. I hate him.
