I missed the last ten minutes of West Wing. I've mentioned before that I'm a creature of habit sometimes. Tonight was my Enterprise and West Wing night.
R. got home around 6:30 am.
"Can we go on a road trip?"
"What kind of road trip?"
"J. absolutely must have 'The Outsiders' tomorrow for english class. We need to go to the book store."
"'course, it's Wednesday night, and Enterprise comes on at seven. I can't miss that. It's Wednesday. I'm a really good driver. Who's on first?"
R. was not happy, but knows my little 'foibles' and agreed to take J. and get the book. I called around the bookstores until I found one that had the book in stock and gave her directions.
"I'll fix dinner when I get back, sweeties"
Just in case you're wondering, we take it in turns. Tomorrow is my night so R. can watch her shows. Thursday is her TV night, Wednesday is mine. Normally we eat around 7, and I was pretty hungry, but with the aid of a sugar free jello I kept the rumbling down to a minimum. I settled down to watch Enterprise.
I hate that. Especially in the middle of a new season. That's just bullshit, IMHO. Make more new episodes! More people watch, more advertising revenue, more profit. Is it that friggin hard to understand???
So I faffed around for an hour, reading Laurell K. Hamilton's 'Kiss of Twilight' or something like that. I played heretic II online for a while but sucked at it.
I started watching West Wing, and R. got home about 8:30, with a bunch of books.
"I'm gonna make chili and hot dogs"
"Sounds good honey"
My sweetie even brought me my food which is something we don't often do, since we make it a point to eat at the table as a family, but she knew how much I wanted to watch West Wing.
I scarfed down the first bowl faster than shit off a shovel, then headed for the kitchen to get some more during the commercials.
"There is no more"
I didn't understand. R. always makes more, that's one of the things I love about her nights to cook. Me I just scoop everything out onto three plates, but she takes the time to figure out portions. No more? I stood standing there staring in sheer blank incomprehension.
My stomach finally made decisions. Having been woken up and half filled, it would be damned if it was going back to sleep until I fed it properly. J. rushed to my aid.
"There's another can of chili here"
"And some fried onion rings and grated cheese"
"Oh, and one hot dog" He lobbed it at me. I caught it in mid air. With my hand, not my teeth, thank you.
Microwave. Stove. Can opener. Pour stir, beep, beep, start.
I ran into the living room in time to see President Bartlet almost deliver his would-be infamous 'My new Vice-President is a lapdog' speech. Then the microwave beeped, and I had to run back to the kitchen, turn off the heat and throw everything into a bowl. Bowl. Where's the bowl. None in the cupboard, six in the sink...Aha! I deduce there are two in the dishwasher! I reach in to grab one. And get oatmeal goop all over my fingers. Cute. Everyone is really good about loading the dishwasher here, but some people in the household seem to have an aversion to ACTUALLY FRIGGIN RUNNING IT!
Screw it. I found a small breakfast bowl and just managed to avoid spilling everything over the sides.
But by the time I got back to West Wing, it had already moved beyond the whole teleprompter thing, so I don't know what happened! So, could someone fill me in please?