My Day As a Slug

It's not like I didn't announce it ahead of time.

When Heir 1 decided to schedule his family birthday party for Aug. 8, I announced to all who would hear me and listen that, on Aug. 9, TCM was having an all day salute to Cary Grant and to forget I exist and forget the living room exists. Both would be off limits that day.

It started out well enough. The marathon offered me a chance to sit for an extended period and get my gift knitting done with minimal interruptions. I'd already seen several of the scheduled films before, so it was like visiting an old friend to have a nice chat and do some knitting.

Then it suddenly occurred to Dirtman that there were entirely too many cucumbers around here and that bread and butter pickles* had to be done today.

How long have I been lamenting the cucumber dilemma? How many weeks? Suddenly it has to be done -- on TCM Cary Grant day.

Anyway, I told Dirtman that I'm sure Cary and I wouldn't mind if he made bread and butter pickles, to which Dirtman harumphed, "Okay. I will." So there.

Well, there were sighs of exasperation. There were pots banging. There were inane questions. There were cooking buzzers buzzing to empty rooms without a Dirtman in sight.

I persisted, though. (I might add, I hardly ever get to use the television in the living room. It's just a given in this house that it must be available to Dirtman at all times of the day so that at any given moment he can watch Dog, the Bounty Hunter. I can't tell you how much I hate having to admit that.) I didn't even respond when, upon walking across the kitchen floor, my shoe stuck to the floor where pickle juice had landed in a puddle and dried there.

Of course today I'm paying for it since, for the fourth time this week, the kitchen floor has to be scrubbed. Still it was worth it.

I had my day and Dirtman has six pints of pickles.

*I'm not sure whether pickles as a side dish is a Southern phenomenon (like ambrosia) or a Protestant phenomenon (like Jello molds).