Hello, My name is Psycho.


Here are five short events that exercised my facepalm skills:

1) What’s for dinner?

It’s amusing to listen to kids talk on the phone. Mr. Smarty-pants asks his sisters fairly mundane things, like what they are doing, are the dogs inside, and what’s for dinner. I suppose he wants to make sure home hasn’t suddenly become a rocking place of happening activity that he’s missing. The other night I hear Miss Drama say, “We’re having roast chicken for dinner, but not one of our chickens.”

Aside from the fact that our chickens are far too skinny from running away from Zeke and Marble, I’m not going to cook a hen that’s giving me eggs. I guess maybe I earn “don’t mess with Mom” points since the kids think I’m perfectly capable of ending a cute squawking chicken.

2) Keep your eye on the prize.

Last week I had a yen for steak, so I picked some up and we had a lovely steak dinner. Enough steak remained to chop up and toss in an omelet the next morning. Peppers and onions were sauteing, steak was chopped, eggs beaten, so I went out to the garden to grab some basil for the omelet. Upon returning, I looked around and then called out, “Where’d the steak go?” I thought perhaps Soup King had moved the cutting board. I glance down as my foot hits something. There’s the cutting board and only a couple of pieces of incriminating evidence remain. Millie’s sight must be going since she actually missed those two pieces instead of eating ALL of it. Marble and Zeke looked on from their crates with their best “WE”RE being good, so toss us some yummy noms”faces. Too bad for them, because neither they nor any of us humans got any steak thanks to Millie.

3) Didn’t I say keep your eye on the prize?

Episode 2 of nom thiefs r us involved the “not our chicken” leftovers.

Poor little Midnight has an infected eye. To make up for the fact I have to wrestle her into position for squirting drops in 3-4x a day, I gave her some leftover chicken. I left the chicken carcass on the stove and took the surprise to Midnight, administered the evil eye drops, and then went back to the kitchen. The chicken carcass had gone mobile and escaped the stove. I look around and there’s Marble holding it in her mouth and trying very hard to appear nonchalant.

Dramatic re-enactment:

“Give.”

“Uh-uh.” (translated for your entertainment)

“Leave it!”

“No. I don’t wanna.”

I reached in, scooped as much of the bones out of her mouth as possible, after which she chewed as fast as she could to down the other half before I could retrieve that as well. The look in her eye reminded me of Miss Diva declaring that Miss Drama got something so it was only fair if she got something too, complete with cocked hip, surly stare, and pursed lips.

4) Vegan irony.

Last week I really, really, wanted cheese. I can’t eat cheese anymore. I can’t even eat vegetarian cheese because it contains the milk protein, casein. I sucked it up and made a pizza with vegan mozzarella.  The kids got a pizza with real cheese. Personally, with some imagination and lots of other really good toppings, I can pretend it is cheese. The kids ate the whole regular pizza, so when Soup King got home, all I had to offer him was the pizza with the vegan cheese. He agreed to eat it before he saw it. For those who have never seen or dealt with non-cheese cheese, let me explain. Only one thing melts and tastes like cheese. You guessed it. Cheese. Vegan cheese melts….kind of.

So, I cut him a slice and heated it in the oven, as the ready-made rice crust was squishier than the homemade crust I made awhile back.

I pulled it out and served it up to him.

“It looks like flesh.”

“It’s vegan! There’s nothing remotely animal in it.”

“It looks disturbing. Are you sure it isn’t flesh?”

5) Like mother like daughter…wait, what the hell does that say about me?

Yesterday I picked up the girls after a trip to their dad’s. I’d been out with a visiting friend showing her the wondrous Memphis zoo. I bought a beige sunhat the last time I was at the zoo, and wore it yesterday. It’s made of some sort of recycled treated paper, I believe, rather than regular straw. Miss Drama picks up the hat and asks, “What’s this made out of?”

Miss Diva says, deadpan, “Straw and human flesh.”

Dead silence for maybe fifteen seconds and then Miss Drama responds, “WHAT!? Really?”

In the front seat, my visiting friend is doubled over attempting to contain her laughter.

Of course I set poor, shocked, Miss Drama straight.

 

I can hear the FBI profilers scribbling away in their folders saying that I obviously starve my dogs. I eat and wear flesh, and I’m under scrutiny in case I become a chicken murder. It’s so nice to know I’ve created such a deadly, psychopathic image for myself. Oddly enough, my grandfather remarked today that he just couldn’t see me using a gun. I’m pretty sure there’s always a relative that swears the psycho couldn’t hurt a fly.

 

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2 responses to “Hello, My name is Psycho.

  1. Pingback: Chaos’ Cousin: Destruction | Author: H.C. Playa

  2. Pingback: The Young and the Clueless | Author: H.C. Playa

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