Just For A Second, God Smiled.
...then he laughed at me.
This is it Baby!
After work yesterday, I stopped by the local Food Conglomerate for a few things. My jaw slammed off my toes when I saw their fridge.
For years, I have bitched that Canadians don't eat pork pies. I have never seen a good British pork pie this side of the Atlantic.
So there they were, true Melton Mowbrays: "mildly seasoned pork pie with crispy pastry - gelatine filled in the traditional style! eat cold." Sure, at $6.50 for a 3" pie, they were pricey, but I took 2 anyway.
I practically ran home, drooling with excitement. A baby in a jamjar wouldn't have distracted me at this point!
As I threw some chips (fries) in the oven just to complete the experience, I was practically singing Rule Brittania.
Heart racing, I sat at the table (no eating on the sofa with this cuisine!). I slid my knife sensually into the cool skin of the pie. It stopped.
I pushed a bit harder. Nothing.
In desperation, a cold sweat already forming, I jammed the knife in as hard as I could. It wouldn't budge.
Finally I set the pork pie on the floor (on the plate!). With a harikari scream, I leapt off the dining room table ala Crouching Tiger, plunging the blade deep into the heart of Mr. Pie. Still didn't work.
Motherfucker! Goddamn Canadian Grocers had frozen the fucking thing! It was a 3" brick.
By the time I thawed it, it just wasn't good. The outside was hot, and the inside was still a bit frosty. I wanted to march back down there, demanding that my imperial right to a Melton Mowbray be fulfilled by these incompetent colonials.
I could have cried...
This sense of loss was made worse by the dream I had Sunday night:
I broke up with Nursie to get back together with Steak.
I was in the basement of a mansion with Steak, and we were fighting already. My friend S was in the corner saying "dude, what are you doing? you love [Nursie]!"
I was wondering the same thing - what did I do that for????
For respite, I escaped upstairs to a United Nations party, where I found a sobbing George W. Bush sitting alone on a balcony.
We cuddled for a bit, calmed him down, and he explained that his son (yeah I know!) wanted to take a job in Kuwait, but Dubya didn't want him to go. It was just too dangerous, what with all those American Soldiers tearing up the place!
We decided that the best thing would be to treat his son like an adult, and let him make his own decisions. I politely didn't point out that the Persian Gulf mess was partly because of his family anyway.
I wonder if you can really get your own way with him if you just put your arms around the dimwit and squeeze reassuringly? Ya know, just like Momma used to do?
11 days to Cancun...
posted by St. Dickeybird @ 8:01 AM
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