Q-waves...

I swear there was something in the air last night. Kids were alternately crying and laughing (one worried; sad about the stupid state assessment testing... the other telling me he wished there was a "booty fairy" to come and heal the rash he's gotten... six year old boys are not the most hygienic creatures, I'll just state that for the record.) and there are some strange things going on around here this morning. The Q-waves are penetrating this house, and no metal colander helmet or tinfoil will save us.

To begin, the black dog woke me up at 530a to tell me that the golden dog had peed on the dining room floor. But I didnt know that was the message until I got up to let him out (because I thought *he* had to pee) and walked in the puddle. Stating also, for the record: dog pee is cold first thing in the morning.

Then, as I was brushing my teeth, I was absentmindedly reading the back of the lavender lotion bottle, and thought whoa! "helps *ussy babies to sleep" really? they aren't going a little overboard there? I mean they're babies, for god's sake. Oh. Wait. Put your contacts in. it says *fussy.*

And lastly, there's been a conspiracy in the delicates drawer. I went to put on a pair of my trusty underwear, you know, the ones bedazzled with the crown on the front?  And someone had chewed through the crotch. What the fuck? It's probably the crazy dryer again, but it irritated me to think that some critter chewed up one of my favorite pair of underwear. After a 530a wakeup to walk in dog pee, I kind of needed those crown panties to make me feel special today, dammit. It's no good to feel the piece of crotch fabric flapping in the wind. let me tell you, it's a little more than disconcerting. 

After those adventures, I decided that a cup of tea was in order. So I went to the tea cupboard and as I drew out a tea bag, I noticed a small package, wrapped neatly in blue and white paper. What was this, a forgotten chunk of gourmet chocolate from Christmas!? Excitedly, I sniffed at the paper. (Yes. Like a blood hound, I sniffed the wrapper to see what it was.) Tomme Brulee was written in lovely school French. Brulee? Brulee? My mind raced. I just won the morning lottery! Dog pee be damned! I just found a secret stash of some glorious creme brulee-flavoured chocolate miracle.

As I fingered open the wrapper, my nose began to reveal what my heart was trying to deny. This was no chocolate. This was cheese. I lost again. You see, this "Tomme Brulee," a specialty cheese from the Basque region of France, "Its originality is that at the end of the maturing period its rind is singed with a naked flame." Naked flame cheese, people. If there is one thing you *must* know about me it is that 10 times out of 10 I would gladly exchange any of the finest pieces of chocolate for a hunk of specialty cheese. As I revealed my treasure, exposed, revealed and freed from the confines of the tightly wrapped paper, my heart sank. I'd thrown a glorious 7.2 ounce piece of Tomme Brulee cheese into the chocolate cupboard, where it languished, alone in the dark, since Christmas. At this point, some exploratory poking revealed that it may, at one point, have resembled a mild blue cheese, without the veining. Now, it was decidedly brown, black, and mustard yellow.

And now I had neither cheese nor chocolate. I should mention here that I was briefly tempted to excursion into "Engdahl Gut" territory and EAT THE CHEESE ANYWAYS, so strong is the force of cheese... The Engdahl Gut is the ability I attribute (mostly to my older brother) to being able to eat anything. One merely calls upon the Engdahl Gut like summoning spirits or invoking some sort of heavenly protection before eating something of questionable safety or origin... (Kind of like the tuna with mayo that sat out all day yesterday on my desk and then I ate it for dinner.) I toyed for a moment with the invocation of the Engdahl Gut and then decided against it. That might have been the tuna talking.

Bollocks.

With a start to the morning like this, there's no telling what opportunity and excitement lay in store. I need the six year old to tell me another vocab word. Although last night's might fit the bill.

expository non-fiction.

Yeah, that sounds about right.