BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Those of you who have read the “Mahwage” mini-series of blogs here at Brainpan Leakage already know that I was dopamine wonky, tongue-tied, tripping over myself in love with E K the moment I laid eyes on her. What followed, of course, was a study in silliness across a dozen blog entries which chronicled our courtship and wedding. (Click the link if you need to be filled in… Rumor has it they are a good read, in an amusing and sappy sort of way.)

Of course, in order to contain the aforementioned series within a dozen relatively long articles, I had to hit only the really high points. This meant that many other high points that weren’t actually the absolute peaks were left out. Unfortunate, yes, but hey, just think of what would have happened if I let E K do the editing. It would have been: We met. We got married. End of story. She’s very concise, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Frugal too. And that’s what the picture of the dead roses above is all about.

You see, one of the things I left out of the Mahwage blogs was a dozen roses I bought for her Supreme Evilness. As it happens, she likes roses. But, this particular dozen came at a time when we were first flirting with one another and not yet fully involved in the “ripped clothing, lip-locked, knocking everything off the desk to make room” passion that accompanies the initial throes of dating. But, I digress as usual…

The thing is, I purchased for The Evil Redhead a dozen red roses. I know, not exactly subtle, but hey, just one of those things. Problem is,  over half the damn things wilted themselves into corpsification within 36 hours. I’d never seen anything like it. While E K had no problem with this happening – other than the fact that she felt bad because she knew how much roses cost – I did. So, I went to the florist. Unfortunately, this particular florist was not of the stellar quality as the one I now use (true story), so what ended up happening was that I purchased 6 replacement roses and hand delivered them to her evilness.

She was happy, but at the same time not so much. You see, being frugal and such she wasn’t happy that I had apparently spent money on more roses. So, I lied. I told her they were warranty replacement roses.

All was good… Until our relationship truly got underway and she took over my finances. It was then she found out I had actually paid for them. As you would expect, knowing her evilness, scoldings and severe beatings then ensued. I was summarily banned from buying her roses for a number of years, lest I waste money on something that was simply going to die in a few days anyway.

Seriously.

That ban has been since been lifted, of course, but she still prefers that I keep the rose giving to a minimum. So, in keeping with her wishes, Valentine’s Day will take the form of Whisky Glazed Filet Mignon, Alaskan King Crab, and Chocolate Covered Strawberries – straight from Murv’s kitchen.

It’s much safer for me that way…

Happy Martyred Saints Day everyone…

More to come…

Murv

Our cats have this whole pecking order thing going on.

Granted, we are down to only 2 felines after many years of rescuing, hospicing, and otherwise adopting copious numbers of the tuna breathed little flea bags, but this pecking order thing has been going on forever. I suppose it’s sort of like lions and their prides. One of them has to act like he (or she) is in charge, so that’s what happens.

Of course, as attrition takes hold and the population dwindles, there are skirmishes. Bids for power, incumbents, lame ducks… Well, they’re all lame ducks… But, you get the picture. King of the pride goes off to the great kitty condo in the sky, and those left behind go into a free-for-all about which one of them is going to wander the house in the middle of the night bellowing the call of the wild.

All in all, it’s pretty ridiculous. Nothing at all like we human folk handle things.

For instance, just the other day I was fixing dinner and the o-spring yelled for me to leave the refrigerator open. Apparently she needed something in there. What and why, I have no idea. After all, I was the one fixing dinner, not her.

Either way, I had already closed the fridge and was back at my prep work by the time she had yelled. She came into the kitchen, took one look and announced, “I said leave the refrigerator open.”

Of course, my response was, “I don’t take orders around here.”

Without missing a beat the o-spring returned, “Oh yeah? If mommy told you to leave it open you would have. You do everything she says.”

Yeah… I guess we know which Evil Kat won the skirmish.

Now, if you’ll be so kind as to excuse me, I have to go find my earplugs. It’s getting late and the “Domestic Redhair” is going to start her Queen (Bitch) Of The (Whole F*cking Universe) Pride yowling very soon…

More to come…

Murv