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  • E K And The Evil Canned Goods…

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    So here’s the thing… Our kid has an addiction. It’s pretty severe, and unfortunately there doesn’t seem to be much we can do about it.  No amount of threatening to take her Nintendo DS away, or confining her to her room has any effect whatsoever. We’ve considered therapy, but it seems our insurance won’t cover it. Yes… It’s that horrible addiction.

    Our child is a fruitaholic.

    Canned FruitNow, in order to feed the child’s habit, I am forced to make frequent trips to the local supermarket. You see, she goes through fresh fruit faster than it can… well… become not fresh.

    Bunch of bananas? Gone. Bag of apples? Gone. Bag of oranges? Gone… And right on down the line. In fact, up until recently the only thing of a fruit orientation I have been able to bring home that didn’t immediately disappear is grapefruit. As it happens, I love grapefruit. Problem is, now the kid does too. My only saving grace at this point is she likes it supremed (meaning, the bitter, tough, membrane removed,) just like I do, but she hasn’t quite figured out how to accomplish that just yet. Of course, that just means I get stuck doing it for her…

    But, let’s not get too far off track. This is, after all, a story about E K.

    You see, since the offspring goes through fruit faster than a bad case of blight, we tend to keep canned fruit around as well. Of course, being the health conscious folks we are, we go for the no sugar added, packed in natural juices sort of canned fruit. It still isn’t as good as fresh fruit, but it’s a damn sight better than all that heavy syrup or aspartame.

    And so, this brings us around to E K.

    It had only been about 24 hours since my “Day Of Retribution” for the “Gimme Mai Shooz” blog entry. I was now using a walker to hold myself up in my three-fourths body cast, while dragging an IV stand around with me, and having my dressings changed hourly.  Obviously, I wasn’t moving very fast. Unfortunately, the offspring was experiencing one of her sudden needs for fruit, and the little monkey had already consumed all of the fresh produce in the house. (On a side note, I wish I had her metabolism. I drink a cup of black coffee and put on 3 pounds. She eats a bag of oranges and it’s all good. *sigh* )

    But, I digress again…

    The kid needed some fruit and though we were all out of fresh, we had some canned stuff in the cabinet. Since my nurse, Brunhilda, had already left for the day, I had no one to help me situate all the tubes and wires from the life support equipment attached to my walker, so I was moving exceptionally slow. In an uncharacteristic fit of pity, E K told me she would take care of it, and then darted off to the kitchen.

    Well, you know how E K is in the kitchen. I’ve told you all before… So, suffice it to say, I just continued shuffling my way through the house in that direction. Something in the back of my head told me that it was the right thing to do.

    Since turtles were lumbering past me like little green, hardtop Porche 911’s , it took me a while to get to the doorway. I wasn’t really surprised when I scooted around the corner to find E K  struggling with a can of fruit. The same can of fruit she had been struggling with for several minutes, and the can was apparently winning.

    “What’s the hold up?” I asked. “The offspring is in there eating the Ficus.”

    E K shot me one of those looks that was a mix of, “help me, it’s not my fault, shut up, damn you, my hero, help me, if you say anything I’ll kick that walker right out from under you and dance on your head!, help me dammit!, go away dammit! Gaaahahhhhahahhhh!!!“.

    Yeah, I know… That’s an awful lot to get from a single glance, but she can be pretty damned expressive when she wants to be. I think it’s the red hair and the blue eyes that do it.

    I didn’t say anything, lest I end up back in the hospital. I simply shuffled over to the island and watched as she went back to struggling with a can of sliced pears and a manual can opener. After several more languid moments of The Evil One attempting to massacre the top of the tin receptacle she let out a frustrated sigh, plonked the can opener down on the counter, then slid the can over to me. She stuttered, “I… well… I did…” Then she pointed at the can and let out another exasperated huff.Can Opener

    I looked at the can.

    Then I looked at her.

    Then I looked at the can.

    Then I looked at her.

    She stared at me with the whole, “Don’t make me kill you” expression on her face. Then, just to be certain I understood, she said, “Don’t make me kill you.”

    Balancing myself with the walker, I reached out, picked up the can, then slipped my finger through the pull tab on top and peeled the lid open. Yeah… You read that correctly. E K was trying to open a pull tab can with a can opener. In her defense it had been a long day, and she had a lot of things going on that were keeping her a bit distracted in the brainpan. Still… it was a pull tab can and she was gouging the living hell out of it with a can opener. There was humor there. Bizarre, laugh out loud humor.

    But, I knew better. I didn’t laugh out loud. No, I was good. For a few seconds anyway. You see, as I sat the can back on counter I looked at her and said, “You know, this is blog material, right?”

    She smirked, then began filling a bowl for the offspring. That was an imperative since the child was about to eat all of our house plants. As she spooned sliced pears into a dish she mumbled, “That’s just mean.”

    “Yeah,” I acknowledged. “Maybe… But you have to admit, it’s funny.”

    “No, it’s just mean,” she replied, then added, “But nowhere near as mean as I’m going to be if you blog about this…”

    I have Brunhilda’s number on speed dial, and the medical supply place is going to leave the life support equipment here on sort of a semi-permanent rental basis, just in case.

    I wonder if they have free Wi-Fi at the hospital?

    More to come…

    Murv

    • You’d better hope they have Wi-fi at the morgue, buster. And, when performing your autopsy, I’ll bet the pathologist keeps asking “Now, how did THAT get up THERE?”

    • Poor EK! I think we have all had those moments. LOL

    • Sweet Mother, you are tempting Fate here. Do you KNOW when to quit, or do you have a death wish? There are places that can help you with that, ya know. They have nice, padded rooms for you.

      Yes, there’s free WiFi at hospitals now. Maybe not at the loony bins, though.

      Consider yourselves blessed she’s a fruit addict. Most of my students are energy drink addicts. Those things are cancer in a can.

      Love ya! Quit trying to get killed! 😉

    • I applaud your desire to provide for your family after your death, but you realize, of course, that when she kills you she will be ineligible for the insurance? Perhaps the money could be put in trust for your daughter?

    • BTW, it is clear the child will be amply protected from that nasty run of scurvy sweeping through the neighborhood. The only question? Why is she depriving her parental units of the same protection? Hmmmmm…

    • All I am going to say is -Have you sent your latest book to the printers yet?- as the books of (clears throat) “not with us on this astral plane authors” do sell better, and I have been anticipating your next release.
      hehehehe.

    • ROFL!!! My daughter ruined our electric can opener trying to do that very same thing to a pop-top can of ravioli!! Nice to know we all have those days! Oh…btw…to which room at what hospital should we send the flowers??

    • LOL!

      Hey, she’s not the only one… 😉

    • I have had days like that. I am just lucky not to live near a blogger.

    • I don’t think it’s a pathologist that is so much the worry, rather it is the PROCTOLOGIST …. 😆

    • oh
      my
      god
      this is funny stuff. *note to self..bring a can of pull tab pears to PUF next year to give to Kat*

    • hey you should be happy, apparently a lot of people click on your blog from mine. 😀

      And Poor Kat, I know how that is some days.

    • Dddduuuuuddddeeee…….

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