Last week I wanted some tuna fish. Publix has been running the 4-packs on BOGO and I thought I loaded up. Apparently not. I went into the kitchen and opened the cabinet and no stinking tuna fish. None.

It seems tuna is like everything else in this house: gone. Ice cream. Granola bars. Toilet paper. Gone. Gone. Gone. Just when you want it - bang, poof: gone. Tobey being the dear he is (or just not wanting me to have a nervous breakdown) went to the store to get tuna.

A day or so later I had a tuna sandwich and when I bit down I heard a crunch. The first thing that went through my mind was Robert Kline and some super old HBO special he had. The "I can't stop my leg" one - the one I can't seem to find a clip for. Anywho. He went on about acceptable levels of rat hair in tuna and how there should be no acceptable level. Doh.

The crunch wasn't a rat femur or anything but a fish bone. At least I think it was a bone and now I am all anti-tuna. Which probably pleases Tobey because I am also anti-pickle when it comes to tuna fish and he is not and he is not fond of my tuna fish. Come to think of it I am anti-pickle all the time. The only time I am non-anti-pickle is when it comes to relish on my hot dog. Maybe I need to join a anti-pickle support group?

So after church and a run to the Wally World I decided to make egg salad instead. I put a dozen and a half eggs on to boil and settled in to watch Holmes on Homes. Do you watch that? We love it. Probably because Mike Holmes finds a problem and says you should never do this or that the way it was done. Then I look over to Tobey and say, "Hey, isn't that the way we installed our tile?" Tobey nods. Yep, Ole Mike would have a hey-day in our house.

Mike: Who installed your bathroom plumbing?
Mrs. Oh: Um. Er. I did.
Mike: And how much experience do you have with plumbing?
Mrs. Oh: Um. Er. None. I just heated up that silver stuff with my creme brulee torch and prayed it didn't leak.
Mike: Take it ALL down. We'll make it right.

But I digress again. Back to the eggs.

I assume the eggs are boiling and I completely forget about them. For 45 minutes. And you know if you overcook your eggs the yolks turn all green right? Well these ones were a sunny yellow. Not overcooked at all. Go figure.

And what really gets me is this: all the times I have made deviled eggs you think I can peel those eggs without a problem? Nope. Those eggs stick to the shells and we have little pock marked deviled eggs because the boogers just will not peel. It really has become embarrassing when I have to bring the eggs for Christmas Dinner and all I can muster is a plate of deviled eggs so mangled looking they almost look pre-chewed.

But those 'burnt' eggs from tonight? Every last one of them peeled like a dream. Not a pock marked one in the batch. Ain't that the way it goes. I suppose if those eggs knew they were going to be deviled they would have stuck in those shells but for egg salad? Oh no. They had to be perfect to go to their chopped up egg salad death.

on Sunday, May 02, 2010

Labels: Life