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Since I consider myself to be a world-class chef (an opinion that, for some mysterious reason, is not shared by others), I decided to SURPRISE my wife by making her a birthday cake from scratch. I thought a culinary celebration was in order because, after all, the old girl is not getting any younger. (I made a mental note to change the battery in the smoke alarm before we lit all the candles.)
So, when she left the house to go meet her sister for lunch, I seized the opportunity to put my considerable cooking capabilities to good use.
Springing into action, I prepared the crunchy batter (I didn’t think an eggshell or two would make any difference), and I popped it in the oven at 500 DEGREES. Obviously, a higher temperature would bake it faster. There often seems to be no end to my cleverness.
I was feeling pleased with myself because I knew this thoughtful gesture would make my spouse happy. Consequently, as I worked, I was whistling away without a worry in the world.
Of course, if you’ve read this little blog before, you already know it was only a matter of time before I would have plenty to worry about.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, as I was using the hand mixer to whip up the frosting, I was distracted when our cranky cat (who I consider to be the bane of my existence) suddenly zoomed into the kitchen. She skidded to a stop in the middle of the room, threw her head back, and started making the horrible horking sound that all pet owners know so well. Before I could react, the beleaguered beast promptly coughed up a humongous hairball that landed with an audible splat.
Startled by the feline’s disgusting digestive distress, I accidentally lifted the mixer from the bowl without turning it off, slinging icing in every direction. The gooey globs formed a sticky, sugary stripe that started sliding down to the floor.
Instantly, our dog burst through the door and eagerly began to slurp the frosting off the wall. At least one of us was happy.
Realizing the simple task of baking a cake had now taken an ominous turn, I sighed heavily and redirected my attention back to the kitty. Her hideous hairball from hell was still steaming. With a definite lack of enthusiasm, I grabbed a rag and knelt down to clean it up. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed thick, black smoke billowing from the oven. Even for someone like me who is not particularly observant, it’s the kind of thing that’s hard to miss.
Thinking things could not possibly get any worse, I was immediately proven wrong when……….. MY WIFE strolled into the room.
A sinister silence fell over the kitchen as the cat, the dog, and me all froze, each of us convinced that we were about to feel the full brunt of her wrath.
Beads of perspiration popped out on my considerable forehead as I gulped and slowly looked up at my bride’s stern face. Reaching deep down inside for as much courage as I could muster, I said in little more than a whisper, “Happy birthday. Are you surprised?”
But there was one final indignity left. Just as the love of my life unleashed her rage-filled response, she was drowned out by the sudden ear-splitting screech of the smoke alarm, which did not need a new battery after all.
Marital Madness 