Started the day off yesterday with TWO Egg & Cheese sangawiches, made back-to-back by my dear bride Peggy.
Now, before you think me TOO much of a hog, let me ‘splain — as I was taking the first sangawich over to my recliner (Did you know that sitting on a recliner eating an Egg & Cheese sangawich will KILL you?) I espied a tiny piece of lint on the seating surface; of COURSE, being Mr. Obsessive(note the hyphen here)-Compulsive, I absolutely HAD to remove it before I sat DOWN on it — I mean come ON!
As I leaned over to remove the offending speck of detritus, my beautiful Egg & Cheese sammich cascaded off the plate, did a perfect mid-air 1 1/2 gainer, and landed on the cat-hair-infused carpet — suffering the same fate as the lost scoop o’ ice cream in the opening credits of “King Of Queens”.
Of COURSE I picked it up; my intention being to possibly pick off the few strands of cat hair that were likely clinging to my butter-soaked, perfectly-browned side o’ sourdough, ’cause I ain’t afraid of no lint! Hell, in my almost 59 years of overeating, many’s the time that I’ve eaten stuff that would make a Billy Goat puke!
The cold, sad reality was that said slab o’ sourdough was ENTIRELY covered with cat fur, specks of cat litter, and various and sundry biohazards tracked in from The Great Outdoors. As I picked it up and began my CSI Miami autopsy examination, Peggy just looked at me with the identical look that Kerry looked at Doug Heffernin with, sighed yet again at the reality of the moron she married, and started in on Egg & Cheese sammich Number Deux.
Meanwhile, Cody The Man Coon — who will eat ANYTHING & EVERYTHING that is even REMOTELY “organic”, sauntered over to the butter-soaked rectangular “outline” on the rug — strangely reminiscent of the taped outline at a murder scene — and commenced to getting busy removing ALL evidence of the crime — “Retardus Interruptus”, if you will.
While sangawich #2 was on the griddle, Peggy started rummaging around for a strip of Velcro to attach the sammich to the plate with…
Hindsight being 20-20 — if I’da had the foresight to grab a butter knife outta the drawer, I THINK I couldda scraped that crud offa that bread…