Words Written, Saturday: 4,041
Song(s) on the iPod: a few today: Settle for a Slowdown - Dierks Bentley (his voice makes me melt); Epiphany - Staind; Let You Down - Dave Matthews Band

You know that brilliant plan to stay up ALL night and hotwire my sleep mechanism? Yeah. It didn't work. I konked out at four in the morning. It managed to re-wire things, all right. I couldn't konk out last night until four o'clock THIS morning also. Back to the drawing board on that one.

And the eclairs? Heh. Yeah, didn't quite make it there either. BabySis got caught up in a work thing all weekend and I hate baking alone. I would have drafted Mr. Clean for the job but, even after sixteen years of marriage, he doesn't know how to do the Kitchen Tango with me.

The Kitchen Tango is a little dance you're forced to learn within my family - where there are always too many cooks in the kitchen. You either learn to tango with them, or you get sniped at... Or covered in something not yet edible... Or cleaning duty when that something then hits the floor. Plus, it's the ability to assist in a timely manner (meaning NOW NOW NOW, not "Oh, where is that ingredient again?").

Mr. Clean can't Tango. He puts ingredients back in the cabinet - stuff I. Still. Needed. He washes dishes while I'm trying to use the sink for other purposes. Sometimes, he washes dishes while I'm still using them! He causes accidents. He's FAMOUS for opening the dishwasher just behind me right before I turn to grab or place something. And he NEVER remembers to warn me. The mere thought of my eclairs going flying because Mr. Clean has decided to, well, CLEAN instead of just relax and cook... Ummm, NO.

Also... I have my Mema's flair for calling things "dinks" when my mind is working too fast on other things to work out the proper name. BabySis - she gets this and can easily interpret exactly what it is I'm looking for (because we grew up always having to interpret the "dinks"). Mr. Clean? He looks around the kitchen at large and says, "Huh?" By that time, something has burned, fallen, or otherwise deteriorated. And then I am cussing. Like a drunken sailor.

(I should add here that my darling Mr. Clean has the GREATEST intentions and always TRIES hard. He's just not a good sou chef, is all... and I'm VERY MUCH like Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen. I still love him. He is banned from the kitchen while I work, though. Just saying.)

Therefore, Dragonfly's Baking Experiment #2 will commence next weekend, perhaps. We'll see how it goes.
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