Suicide Sauces

Obviously blogging stuff should be an outlet, not a chore. So of course I remember sitting down to write at 9:30AM and still by 1:30PM I had not finished a single post for the day. Yes, I was up and down, distracted, too cold, hot, thirsty, tired … well you have probably been there a few times too. It is not my favorite part of the ‘creative’ process but when I get into a grind, I try to move around a lot, percolate, and do anything else than write, to mix-up the syrup in the synapses.

So as the sun irritatingly kept changing positions in the sky, I could tell it was well past Noon. Despite my lack of finished production, I decided a break for a big bowl of applesauce was in order. Please don’t mock me just because my lunch is on par with most 3 year olds. I know it is actually more sugar than apples, but secretly I LIKE thinking blueberry PopTarts and Strawberry Twizzlers ARE also healthy eating.

Anyway, the refrigerator is filled with Styrofoam take-home containers because my daughter brings home stuff every day from the restaurant where she works. That is great except those bulky foam things are always in the way of my applesauce. With a deftness worthy of those bomb-defusing spacemen in the Hurt Locker, I maneuvered the plastic jar of 'apple-pablum ecstasy' to a small opening in the front of the fridge. Sure enough at the last moment, the jar caught a small, translucent take-home cup of some kind of red sauce and it fell to the tile below. I was relieved to see that since the sauce was capped, there was no collateral damage and the floor was perfectly clean and the red stuff still edible.

Without hesitation, I temporarily suspended my rescue mission of the applesauce jug and tucked it innocently back into its burrow. Unbeknownst to me the applesauce jar’s lip was actually resting at a launching angle on top of a shiny slick ranch dip tub. As I let go of the portly jug of applesauce and began to bend down to retrieve the little red sauce, the obviously jealous-jug immediately slid off its perch and hurled itself out of the refrigerator to the ground below.

Now you know the ending to this story already don’t you? I mean, if you have ever sat through the slapstick hilarity of Abbott and Costello or the Three Stooges, you HAVE to know where that 2 pound jar of applesauce hit right? Yes indeed, the jug whizzed by my head in mid-flight, then completely flattened and obliterated that puny see-thru cup of red stuff. It was like Fat Albert had just done a cannonball on a Roma Tomato HOLDING onto a Cherry tomato.

My beautiful tile floor, table, walls, pant legs – you name it, they all instantly looked like a crime scene. Any C.S.I. could have analyzed the accident through the sauce splatter and oblong droplet patterns up to 6 feet away. This was definitely blunt force trauma, and the clean-up job was best left to our resident professional, my daughter the “Crushed Sauce Investigator". Remember, my kid works in a restaurant and has seen her share of horrific food tragedies – but why do they ONLY happen when I’m at HOME blogging?