Go sit down, Scott.

What reason is there for requiring food users to tear the paper off the biscuit roll before you thwack it against the counter? Why not just print the instructions on the under part? And WHY is the flimsy little paper so strong that it can prevent several pounds of biscuit mightiness from busting forth?

I raise this question because the other night I assigned myself to invade the O'Willard's and make them dinner. 

BECAUSE- Ginnie, with a masterstroke of deception, successfully made Robyn go into Lowes. In Lowes, they got a working oven. This has been widely broadcast on facebook. Old news.

And I have been hankering to sculpt a souffle with my chefinary muscles for quite some time. (Which means ever since Ginnie told me I couldn't make one at her house because her oven didn't work.)

I thought it would be difficult to pull off, so I would feel supreme when I did so.

Anyhow, I decided to make all of dinner.

So I made a chicken pot pie-ONLY AFTER- I had dumped a giant bag of mixed frozen vegetables into what appeared to be a giant taupe saucer and (by hand) sorted out all the peas from the rest of the mix.

I am not the party that suffers from pea snobbery.

So that all had to get really hot in one of those pans with a handle. (Brett just informed me they are called "skillets.")

During this portion of the evening Ginnie trotted in to alert me that she smelled burning plastic.

This did not really alarm me because earlier I had decided against pre-heating the oven before I began pea-sorting, which proved to be a brilliant decision because I later discovered that the O'Willard household stores all of its' pots and pans INSIDE the oven. DISASTER. 

So when Ginnie scented the plastic, I knew at least it wasn't from anything dying in the oven.

I later discovered that the fabulously exciting tall salt grinder (I highly recommend, hours of entertainment) now bore a strong resemblance to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Apparently the top of the stove gets hot when the inside of the stove gets hot.

I am not sure that this is normal.

So you dump all those vegetables and soup and some milk all hot into a pot. Then you are to cover the surface of the dish with those pull apart breakfast biscuits.

Robyn was home by this point, and in the kitchen with me. (Don't know why Ginnie allowed that to happen.)

I was holding the cylinder of biscuits, considering using the can opener, when Robyn made the astute observation that this was the sort of biscuit container that should be opened by joyfully hurling it against any nearby stationary object. Such as the counter, the floor, or their orange tabby.

So I gleefully commence hurling. (The biscuits.) (Well, that still didn't clear anything up.)

I dent the paper and work up a healthy glow of sweat but no popping biscuits.

Robyn takes it from me and has a few solid whacks. 

Nothing.

After about 45 seconds of this, Ginnie, with I'm sure an enormous rolling of her eyes, figures out what our problem is and comes into the kitchen and teaches us a lesson.

(After she reminded me I remembered that I used to know that.)

So that dish turned out well.

Then the souffle. 

It was a brownie.

Tom bet it was going to a brownie the moment I mentioned I was planning on making it.

Joseph met Tyra Banks yesterday. I am very excited for the impressions. I told him to tell her for me that I took great offense to her bitchy brush-off of the correct pronunciation of Katarzhyna's name in cycle 10. Had circumstances been reveresed, Katarzhyna would have had a weave so far up her rump she could craft socks out of her nostrils.

I think I will watch Atonement now. Have wanted to see that for a while. Am not sure I will like it. I should, I think. But I tried reading the book and was unable to get past page three due to overzealous descriptions of things like the radishes and the marble swirl pattern on the underside of the toilet bowl.