Mar
I am completely drained from the last few weeks: work stress + family stress = one tired mama.
The universe did not get the memo, though. Two nights ago, because I had too many things to do at once, I decided to fix loaded baked potatoes for supper. After I popped the washed, poked, and salted spuds in the oven, I worked at my computer for a while. At one point in the evening, I heard a muffled sound, not unlike a heavy book being closed.
When I went to remove the baked offerings, I discovered that one of them was not happy being a plain, white potato from Idaho. No, it thought of itself more like a Hellfire Missile, and it chose this day to unleash its terrifying and awesome power against the oven coils.
The universe seems to have forgotten that moms bake potatoes for dinner when they absolutely do not have time for anything more elaborate, and as a corollary, do not have time to clean the fucking oven.
The universe needs to remember that I can do voodoo.
