Over Wearing Underwear: Monthly Poetry

 

 

 

 

Last Friday of the month is for

Monthly Poetry Group to rhyme.

Diane, Mimi, and I take turns,

"Underwear" is the theme this time.

 

As usual, today I'll try,

a poem to write . . . or fudge.

Whether I'm successful or not,

you get to be the judge.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over Wearing Underwear

Underwear's changed quite a bit,

over time, from then to now.

Corsets pinching at the waist,

are no longer considered high brow.

Granny pants were once the norm,

now we wouldn't be caught dead.

It's French cut, bikinis, g-strings,

and sayings . . . where they shouldn't be read.

Oh, the pressure to get it right,

we've all been mommy-harassed,

should we get into an accident,

don't by underwear, be embarrassed.

Then came a perplexing thing,

underwear's become outerwear?

Corsets came back into style,

worn, exposed, without a care.

This I have to ask, though,

'cause to me it has to matter,

what happens when you're cooking and,

those hot things . . . you know . . . splatter?

 

 

Apple Cinnamon French Toast Sandwich

Lets not forget the men folk,

tidy whitey, boxers, even thong?

How many options do they need?

And where did we go wrong?

They too show way too much it seems,

"cool" young men prefer to wear,

pants down below their buttocks,

exposing what they wear . . . down there.

Think, though, 'fore we judge today,

those we consider over exposed,

of fabled emperor who'd best have worn,

underwear with his "new clothes."

 

Before you go, stop by these blogs for more Collections poetry:

 

On the Border

Messymimi's Meanderings

 

 

 

Apple Cinnamon French Toast Sandwich       

                                                                                      ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients (makes 2 sandwiches): 

2 eggs

2 TBSP milk

2 TBSP butter

4 slices cinnamon bread

2 TBSP cookie butter

1 apple, peeled, cored, thinly sliced

2 slices sharp cheddar cheese 

 

OPT: maple syrup for serving

 

Directions:
*Whisk the eggs and milk together in a shallow bowl.

*Heat 1 TBSP butter in a large skillet over medium heat until hot. Dip 2 slices of cinnamon bread in the egg mixture, then add to the pan. Cook until the bottom starts to brown. 

*Remove one piece of the bread from the pan. Flip the other piece over, top with 1 slice of sharp cheddar and 1/2 of the apple slices.
*Spread 1 TBSP cookie butter onto the browned side of the bread you'd removed from the pan. Place this on top of the apple slices in the pan, uncooked side up.

*Cook until the bottom browns. Flip the sandwich over, and cook until the other side browns, you may need to turn the temperature down a bit.

*Remove from the pan, keep warm, and repeat to make the second sandwich. 

*OPT: serve with maple syrup.

 

 

The Nightmare Probability

  

 

 

I will not be sleeping in my bed tonight. Quite possibly never again. 

No, I'm not mad at Hubs. If so, we all know that he'd be the one not sleeping in the bed tonight.

 

Before I explain what happened last night, let me tell you of a previous experience I had, many years ago, back when Hubs and I had just moved into an apartment in Connecticut. 

 

Hubs was at work. I was unpacking boxes when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. There, in the middle of the room was a spider. Now I don't like spiders in general, but this was a huge, grey, long legged, gargantuan spider, the size of which I'd never seen. I was terrified. There was no way I was touching that thing, I certainly wasn't going to try to squish something that huge {{gag}}, maybe I could put a plastic container over it, a paperweight on the container and let Hubs deal with it.

 

That was the plan.

 

I grabbed a container, and tried to convince myself to get anywhere near the monster. That's when it happened. It started to run, I threw the container at it and I started to run. I ended up standing on the arm of the couch. But where did it end up?

 

Three hours later, Hubs came home and there I was, standing on the arm of the couch, eyes the size of saucers, rotating and scanning the room like a human periscope.

 

Hubs checked that house, top to bottom, more than once. I stayed right where I was, micromanaging "pick up the couch, look under the rug." When he'd finally given up, he told me it had probably gotten out the sliding door.

 

Probably?

 

Probably?

 

I probably wouldn't end up living in the Midwest.

I probably wouldn't get pregnant in the early years of IVF.

I probably wouldn't have an FBI file.

I probably wouldn't have a kid light my car on fire.

I probably . . .

Not that I knew then all of the improbably probabilities I be living later on, but one thing I knew right then and there was that, in that particular moment, I wouldn't be doing "probably."

 

Hell-to-the-NO!

 

What I also knew is that I probably (more than probably) wouldn't, in the forseeable future, be in the laundry room, reaching into the washing machine. I wouldn't be in the kitchen reaching into cabinets. 

 

I'd be in the den. Standing on the couch. In perpetuity. Or at least for the life span of a gargantuan spider.

 

 

Garlic Ranch Orzo

 

Fast forward to last night. Or I should say this morning. It was actually about 5:30 am, I had been asleep when I suddenly heard fast galloping across my ceiling. Yes, it was that loud. I looked up and saw an enormous beetle, scurrying across the ceiling from the middle of the room, to over my bed. 

Terrified, I jumped out of bed and turned on the light. I was shaking, my heart beating a mile a minute. I looked up at the ceiling and saw nothing. Hubs, famous for sleeping through tornado sirens, was sleeping away.

 

 

 

I woke him up and we checked the ceiling again. Nothing. There's a vent there but it was closed, and honestly, this thing would have to lose about 20 pounds to fit in it anyway. We climbed up and checked behind the headboard. Nothing. We used flashlights to check under the bed. Nothing. 

Hubs was convinced I'd just heard something outside and scared myself awake, but it didn't matter, I was up. For the day. Maybe forever.

 

And face it, there's just no way I'm going back into that room, shut off the lights, and do anything other than picture an enormous beetle galloping its way towards my face. No, I'm going to have to turn my bedroom over to that thing.

 

Even though I've spent the better part of the day convincing myself that it had probably just been a nightmare.

Probably.

Garlic Ranch Orzo

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

1 1/4 cups chicken broth

1/2 cup ranch dressing

2 TBSP grated parmesan cheese

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 tsp pepper

1 TBSP dried parsley 

2 TBSP butter

1 cup orzo

3 cloves garlic, minced

 

Directions:
*Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease an 8 X 8 baking dish.

*Whisk together the chicken broth, ranch dressing, parmesan cheese, salt, pepper, and parsley in a large bowl. Set aside.

*In a skillet over medium heat, melt the butter. Once hot, add the orzo and garlic to the pan. Cook, stirring, for about 3 minutes, until the orzo starts to brown.

*Add the orzo to the bowl and mix. Pour into the prepared baking dish and cover tightly. Bake for 40 minutes. Uncover carefully, and stir.

Using Words and Changing Names: Fly on the Wall

 

  

Welcome to a monthly Fly on the Wall group post. Today 3 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes. Come on in and buzz around my house. At the end of my post you’ll find links to this month’s other participants’ posts.

Just after his birthday, PurDude and a bunch of his high school friends were meeting up in NY city. I'm always nervous on travel days, so he knows to keep in touch with me along the way so I know where he is. The day before he left, I asked him what time his flight left, and he said he didn't remember exactly, but that it was early.

 

The next morning I started watching for his texts from the time I woke up. Finally, at 11:30am, I heard from him:

PurDude: Just leaving for the airport now.

Me: Now? One of us needs to look up the word "early" in the dictionary.

 

 

When he got back from NY, he called me to fill me in on his trip. He'd had fun, visited all the places I'd hoped he'd see, celebrated his birthday, saw a play, and then, of course, I wanted to know what he'd eaten.

Me: So did you go to some interesting restaurants.

PurDude: Mostly all of our meals were $1 pizza slices.
Me: What? Doesn't sound to me like you took advantage of the diverse NYC culinary experience.

PurDude: Are you kidding? $1 pizza slices IS the NYC diverse culinary experience.

 

Looks like one of us also needs to look up the words "diverse culinary experience" in the dictionary.

On Monday night I was trying to figure out what to defrost for Tuesday's dinner.

Hubs: What are you thinking?

Me: I'm thinking I'll marinate some jerk chicken to cook on the grill.

Hubs: Sounds good. Should be a warm, sunny day, too.

Now if you know me at all, you know that it rains every time I use the grill.

On Tuesday, Hubs was right, it was sunny. I walked out the slider to put the chicken on the grill and felt something on my head. I freaked out, came back in the house, and noticed a few rain drops on the deck.

Me: Phew!

Hubs: Phew?

Me: It's sunny out, but it's raining.

Hubs: And you're happy about cooking in the rain? What is this, opposite day?
Me: Well, considering what I thought had fallen out of the sky and plopped onto my head, yeah, I'm pretty happy about that.

 

I was sitting on the couch, drinking my coffee one morning when Hubs came up behind me and looked over my shoulder to see what I was doing:

Hubs: What the hell?

Me: What?
Hubs: Did you really submit that as a guess?

 

Me: What? It's a word . . .

 

 

It's a good thing he wasn't looking over my shoulder later in the week. Because there were way too many options that would work for this one:

And I was just going to have to try them all!

 

 

 

I do try to give the names I choose for my recipes some thought. Apparently I was way off my game this time.

Hubs (looking over my shoulder): What is that?
Me: I'm writing up a new recipe.

Hubs: Do you want to rethink that name?

Me: Why?

Hubs: Well, Greek Stuffed Portobellos sounds like you stuffed your mushrooms with a bunch of Greek people.

 

Not really what I was going for, I changed the name.

 

Stuffed Greek Portobellos

Speaking of not what I was going for with a name, and of making changes, I almost changed the name of one of my writing challenges in a most unfortunate way.

I was about to publish the Word Counters challenge just a few days ago, when I {{phew}} took one more look at the title of the post. I'd dropped a letter. In fact, a very important letter. It read: 

Slinging Slang: Word Cunters

Holy crap, how do you go about apologizing to your friends after a mistake like that?

 

 

Hubs came up from the man cave with his cell phone and handed it to me, he'd been talking to PurDude. As I started talking, Hubs headed back to the man cave, then came back up to tell me that when I was done, not to hang up, he just remembered something he wanted to ask PurDude.

 

I finished talking and went downstairs. 

 

Me (handing the phone to Hubs): It took me a long time, but I finally convinced him to talk to you again.

 

And I swear, I could hear my son rolling his eyes, all the way in Colorado

 
 

I was doing some prep work in the kitchen and had been cutting onions. My eyes were red and weepy when I went into the den and turned on the TV.

 

College Boy: That's it, to the nursing home for you. 

Me: What are you talking about?
College Boy: You've officially met the criteria for being committed to a nursing home.

Me: What criteria?
College Boy: What you're doing, sitting in front of the TV crying at Hallmark movies or McDonald's commercials.

Me: I'm not crying at the TV, I was just cutting onions.

College Boy: Tell it to the judge.

 

 

 College Boy was going to need a ride to and from work last Wednesday. Hubs had taken him there before and knew where it was. On this particular day, Hubs could take him to work, but had a late meeting and couldn't pick him up.

 

I said I'd pick him up, they just had to let me know how to get there. I don't know how to use the GPS in my car, and with the VPN on my cell phone, Google Maps tries to give me directions from 3 states away.

 

So College Boy gives me simple directions: go past Walmart, go under the highway, then take the first right. At the stop sign take a left, at the next stop sign take a right. The building is on the left.

 

Pretty simple directions, no problem. Well, in my mind anyway. All week long Hubs and College Boy were expounding on the directions. 

 

Hubs: You go under the highway, then up a hill.

College Boy: There's a light there where you take a right.

Hubs: And a car dealership on your left.

College Boy: And the building is the second one on the left.

Hubs: Maybe that morning you should take him to work so he can show you the way.

 

It went on and on like that all week. I kept reassuring them that I'd have no problem finding it. 

 

Tuesday night, Hubs comes home and lets us know that his appointment the next afternoon had been postponed, he'd pick up College Boy on his way home from work.

 

So, apparently, after my family having spent an entire week explicitly mapping out the entire 4 mile route inch by excruciating inch, I no longer needed to know how to get there at all.

 

 

 

Now click on the links below for a peek into some other homes:

Menopausal Mother 

The Diary of an Alzheimer's Caregiver

 

Stuffed Greek Portobellos

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:
4 portobello mushrooms, cleaned, stump removed

1/4 cup Greek dressing

1 TBSP olive oil

1/4 cup TBSP chopped onion 

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 cup fresh spinach, cleaned

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 tsp pepper

8 - 10 large grape tomatoes, quartered

4 oz crumbled feta cheese

 

Directions:
*Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Lightly grease a 9 X 13 baking pan.

*Brush the Greek dressing onto the bottom (rounded) sides of the mushrooms. Place them into the baking pan, gills side up.

*Heat the olive oil in a large saute pan at medium heat. Once the olive oil is hot, add the onion and the garlic. Cook, stirring for about 3 minutes, until the onions start to soften. Add the spinach, salt, and pepper, and continue to cook and stir until the spinach wilts. Remove the pan from the heat. Mix in the tomatoes and feta.

*Spoon the spinach mixture into the mushroom caps. Bake for 20 minutes.