Homemade fire salad

I love Angie for many reasons, but knowing her way around the kitchen is not one of them. See, she tends to set things on fire, and this just frightens our cat and angers my wallet. Knowing this, you would think that a salad would be a relatively safe thing to leave within Angie's reach. So did I.

At some point during the course of the dinner that she was not allowed to cook, Angie started craving greens. I passed her the salad bowl and returned to watching David eat. It's fascinating, really. He can make an entire bowl of food disappear without getting a single morsel into his mouth. Move over, Copperfield - there's a new David on the scene.

Anyway, as I was admiring David's meatball hairdo, I smelled fire. Unfortunately, I know this odor all too well and whipped around not really that shocked to see the salad bowl going up in flames. Shit!

After years with Angie, my reflexes have been honed to smother first, ask questions later. I snatched David's glass of apple juice and doused the blazing inferno. I did have a beer in my hand, but come on - get real! Through the smoke, I saw Angie's red cheeks and heard her muttering something over and over again. I ignored this for the moment and put on my Fire Chief hat to investigate.

Hmmm. Very interesting. One smoking salad bowl, with two plastic spoons hanging over the edge. Four burning candles on the table next to the salad bowl. Judging by the angle of the melted spoon, someone really stupid must have placed the salad bowl right next to the flammable centerpiece. The cute blonde dame over there with the red face is the only one with green crap on her plate.

Before I could crack the case, Angie's muffled chanting got louder and louder. Eventually, I could make out what she was repeatedly repeating:

'Please don't blog this, please don't blog this, please don't...'

Klepto Grams

Christmas day started with a frantic search to find my camera. We were at Grams and Opa's and their freaky house has a way of making things 'disappear'. Opa had spent most of last night searching the house for Grams' camera, so it was clearly my turn to go hunting.

I almost gave up, but for some reason, I ventured into Grams' bedroom and discovered the biggest stash of stolen cameras I have ever seen.

Okay, it was actually just one. Mine. It was on her desk. But that's not the point. She's got sticky fingers and I am quite certain that somewhere in that possessed house of theirs is a secret closet packed with 'lost' cameras. Nice try, shifty - we're on to you.

If you ever visit their house, leave your camera behind or bring a disposable. It might not be a bad idea to slap a GPS tracking chip in it, but I would still keep my eyes on Grams.

Temper Tom

Santa was a real dumbass this year. If he had paid attention at all, he would have known that a HAMMER is the last freakin' thing this kid needs. The other day, Tom wanted to stick a fork in our kitty. I said no and I shit you not - he picked up a serving tray and threw it at me. A SERVING TRAY! What the hell do you think he's going to with a hammer? Someone get me out here.

Nice horn!

It's never funny when you bash your head into the sharp pointy corner of a shelf while bending over to throw a snotty tissue into the waste basket. It is, however, freakin' hilarious when your lovely wife does it. Isn't it?

Get a job, Hippychick!

Lately, I've been a little worried that Tom might change his name to Moonbeam and run away to some grassy commune for what would surely be a mind-altering upbringing.

With his long hair and lack of a job, I'm sure he would fit in just fine in Hippie-ville. What worried me even more, though, is how the boy's mother could completely ignore the fact the he was looking more and more like a little girl each day. It was almost as if she wanted this. The other day, I caught her braiding his hair into pony tails. Bring me the scissors and get me the classified section!

We got ourselves a jumper!

When I came home from work last week, Angie had just gotten out of the bath. She was wet, half-naked and only had a towel on, but I checked her out anyway.

'What the hell happened to your knee?'

'What...uh...I don't...uh...what was the question?'

'Your knee - the one with the pancake bruise on it. How did you get that?'

I've known Angie for over a decade. After five years, you start to know when the other person is lying. After ten years, you can also tell whether they're lying to avoid getting caught or to avoid embarrassment. I smell red cheeks.

After many indirect questions, several direct ones, and one threat to snatch her only clothing and towel-snap her in the ass, I got a version of the truth.

'I took Tommy to the indoor playground today and they have trampolines, which he found fascinating. I didn't really want to go and jump on them; I just did that to make Tom happy. Yeah, tt wasn't for me at all; no. Tom was having such a ball that he wanted to jump higher. At least that's what I think he wanted. The funny thing is, when you jump really, really, REALLY high on a trampoline, you sometimes start to flip. And so the next thing I knew...'

My pointing and laughing somehow interrupted her 'explanation', but I think that even Paul Harvey would not need the rest of the story. To make a long story embarrassing, Mama's knee was the saving grace that kept Tommy's face from smashing into the frame of the trampoline. The bruise was black, it was blue and it looked extremely painful, but I laughed at it anyway.

Shit happens

So, okay - I'm a little behind on The Johnson's Zoo. I guess Peter felt I was little constipated with The Toilet Roll as well. Shit happens.

I normally sketch these things while I'm on, imagine that, the toilet. I then use a magnet to 'post" them on the washing machine for the family to enjoy (or not) until I get around to uploading them.

Peter apparently got tired of weeks of checking the washing machine in vain and decided to create his own crappy art. I crack up in the bathroom all the time, but seing Peter's obvious portrait of Mama really made me laugh.

I got the message, Peter. Now, if you will all excuse me, I need to go make something happen.