Der Bingle made some chili today and I think it may be modified because it tastes good but then it starts to make your mouth very hot, not to mention the back of your throat. I was sampling some and as usual, I dropped a bit on my shirt. But, I assert that because the chili had a hidden punch I panicked and spilled even more.

I could have changed my shirt, but I decided to wet a paper towel and blot it. It got wetter and wetter and soon a big circle like a target was on my chest – and it was cold. I am aware that putting on another shirt would have been the best choice all the way around, but I opted to wad up some dry paper towels and wedge them underneath the wet spot on my shirt, producing a hump. And that is probably as close as I will ever get to having a bosom of sorts.

Ah, the truth comes out. Der Bingle could not find chili powder so he used red pepper! He confessed. The paper towels are staying in until my shirt dries or ridicule forces me to pull my head out of  one turtleneck and put it into another.

But wait, there is more. Der Bingle says he countered the effect by adding honey, a trick LZP learned from his old “Vietnamese buddies”.  I will have to try this; good thing I still have the hunchchest shirt on.

This morning before dawn – even though it is a Saturday – I was making myself a foldover using smooth peanut butter and as a I got a big glob on the knife, it fell off and wrapped itself around the handle to the cabinet below. It was still a glob, only a very complex one that looked like a rope that had been knotted on the handle. Some things in life put you in automatic mode or you would lose your mind instantly; some things in life cause an involuntary whimper of your inner puppy. This was in the first group.

I stared at the blob; I put down my knife; I gathered up what I needed to get the clinging alien growth off my cabinet handle; I executed the maneuver. I calmly continued to make my foldover and got my drink and I came out here to my favorite spot. I believe I have begun to come out of my robotic phase – my breathing seems less mechanical and I am making little movements that are not absolutely essential to the moment.

I think I am at that stage where one must decide if one is going to let the incident haunt one into the fetal position or take a deep breath and muster on.

I I do decide to carry on, will there be cameras to record my triumphant return to the kitchen, just as they watched MacArthur come ashore in the Philippines? Somehow I doubt it. Oh, the thankless job of the anonymous general.