There is a small pile of Oreo skins in front of me here at my desk.
The skins being the yucky dirt-flavored cookie portion of the Oreos.
All I really want is a tub of that lardish middle frosting part.
Do they sell Oreo middle in a tub? They so should.
Anyway . . . can you tell I am here alone at the moment?
Alone with my pile of Oreo skins.
OK, guess what?
If you pull your lips in over your teeth and pretend that you are an old woman who has forgotten to put in her dentures?
It is almost impossible to scrape the frosting off of an Oreo.
Plus also? You will giggle hysterically.
I did mention that I am alone, right?
Here’s another way you can tell I am home alone . . . I spent perhaps 20 silent minutes this morning watching an enormous spider fill our dining room window with intricate webbing. He was outside, in case you were wondering.
If he had been inside, I would have whammed him.
And I turned on the TV and watched 30 minutes of The Pussycat Dolls in concert, because I was too lazy to get up and find the remote control.
The Pussycat Dolls? Here’s my review . . .
Mean looking strippers lip-synching horrendous suggestive lyrics while pantomiming sex.
Not that bad.
My point here is that I am all fucking accomplished today.
I am not inclined to set the world on fire today.
Although if I were so inclined, I have enough matches to do the job.
Huge piles of small wooden matches, dumped out by the girls so that they can craft tiny decorated boxes in which to house small treasures.
And so I have matches and nothing against which to strike them.
The other night, the girls emptied more small boxes of matches and stared at the growing pile of red-tipped kindling.
Kallan was filled with plans, “Can we have the matches?”
What am I, a complete idiot? “No, you may not have the matches. You can have the boxes, but I get the matches.”
Maj was curious, “But what are you going to do with them?”
Hmmmm, “I’m going to build a little house. A little house of matches.”
Kallan was all sassy as she and her sister left the room with their arms laden with tiny cardboard boxes, “Yeah, that’s a genius plan!”
And then she whispered to Maj, “Mom’s going to build herself a house of matches and then? She’s going to set the house on fire.”
I called after her, “Yes! I will set the house on fire and roast marshmallows!”
Ooooh . . . speaking of roasting marshmallows . . .
We went to a wedding reception not long ago, and there was a chocolate fountain. Lots and lots of items to impale on long wooden sticks and then dip into the flowing chocolate. One of the items available for dipping was marshmallows.
A huge hit with the kids.
But then the kids got bored.
And soon there were perhaps ten children all gathered around the fire-lit tiki torches that lined the yard. Roasting marshmallows.
I watched as a little boy, perhaps a bit more than two years old, reached high on the chocolate fountain table for a marshmallow. And a stick.
And he walked over to one of the tiki torches.
I watched him. I realized no one was paying attention to him. So I got up out of my chair to go supervise the marshmallow roasting. But I wasn’t in a big hurry. He was staring confusedly at the marshmallow and the stick he held, unsure how to bring the two items together. So cute.
But just as I approached him? He solved the problem for himself.
He simply lifted the marshmallow into the flames with his hand. No stick required.
I felt pretty crappy for not having seen that coming.
He wasn’t hurt. Just surprised and pissed in that way two year olds get when they realize that there is yet another big dangerous thing in this world that no one has seen fit to mention before now.
So I examined his hands and reassured him and then stood with him for a few minutes, and we stared at the fire together.
He ate his marshmallow.
And we stared at the fire.
Fire is all hurty if you’re not careful.
So no . . . I am not inclined to set the world on fire today.
Although I have plenty of matches with which to do the job.
It’s raining, anyway.
I wonder if I could build a house of Oreo skins?
I am all geniusy when I am left alone.