While getting paid for doing nothing certainly gave me a feel for what management goes through on a daily basis, I felt no need to fire thousands and give myself a huge bonus. But I digress with my flirtation with the dark side.
Our trauma started a few days ago. My daughter was rummaging through the refrigerator and wanted to know where the Dutch Gouda cheese was. Sorry, Paige - my Amsterdam trip was cancelled. "Oh no- Dad - are we going to have to buy orange cheese?" I was thinking what a cheese snob she is, and she'll make some guy miserable some day. Then my own waterloo arrived, in the form of a lawn tractor rammed at full speed over two cement steps into the front door. Crap! Clay, very contrite and always knowing the right move after a heinous screw up, offered to get me a beer. Well, OK, a 12%, 24 proof, Belgian beer ought to make the situation manageable. (I wanted to say Shit, but Lisa said I can't swear on the blog)
Crap! We're out. Damn, Brussels was canceled too. This volcano is really starting to piss me off.
The crisis came to a massive 9.8 eruption last night. While pouring some wine for dinner, my wife was aghast to find that we were only half a bottle away from (OMG!) Napa Valley!
My wife, who occasionally gets wound tight about little things but is always smooth and steady with the big problems, was showing mild irritation. This is NOT good.
Shortly thereafter, the mountain exploded and continents fell into the ocean when as she was preparing her special pasta dish, it went like this:
"Honey, where's the parmigiano reggiano?"
"Remember? Rome was cancelled. We're out."
"Aaarrgh!"
Feeling the thundering hooves of the barbarians at the gate, she ran out of the kitchen, slammed the bedroom door, and was hiding under the covers crying and mumbling something incoherent that sounded like, "I said for better or worse, richer or poorer (sob, sob) but NOT domestic parmesan!! Nooooooooo!"
I suddenly realized that we had become addicted to fabulous 3 Euro bottles of Cote du Rhone, inexpensive Italian Parmesan cheese and Dutch Gouda cheese, as well as stuff that is either too expensive to buy in the U.S. or is impossible to find.
So. If something isn't done about this volcano soon (don't the damn Icelanders have any virgins to sacrifice left on that island, you know it's what any self-respecting volcano wants), we will have to resort to my hourly paid union employee roots and start buying food that is truly within our budget. The kids will soon be introduced to cheese that comes in cans with convenient squirt spouts, and Lisa and I will be drinking Pabst and Boone's Farm. Yeehaw!
See you at the monster truck rally.....
