Hi, it’s me, Dori *wavy paws* with another Story from The Whiner, a newsletter my mom used to write about her fish-out-of-water experiences of being a girl from the suburbs living in the country. Apparently there is a trick to doing it…and my parents were both severely clueless.
In this episode my Mom, Kimberley Koz, proves it is indeed possible to Age Without Brains. And now…Adult Defiance.
How often have you been told not to do something, and yet you do it anyway?
I’m not talking about when you were six-years-old and your dad told you not to take off your shoes to walk on the grass, and yet you did so anyway once his back was turned. I’m talking recently. You’ve been warned not to do something, but… You’re an adult, dammit! And so defiance raises its righteous head and you do it anyway.
For countless years Ray has told me not to use the garbage disposal like a garbage can. Apparently there is a difference.
“Don’t shove an entire celery stalk down it.”
“Don’t empty half a carton of spoiled cottage cheese down it.”
“Don’t rinse the dinner plates into the disposal without first scraping the leftovers into the trash.”
“Blah. Blah. Blah!”
Translation: “Don’t. Don’t. Don’t!”
So there I was with a humungous bowl of sauerkraut that went bad four weeks ago, but I left in the back of the fridge cuz… Ray bought it for one hot dog.
And also, I don’t really like sauerkraut. I needed to get rid of the evidence before Ray’s uber-sensitive nose discovered my deliberate waste of good food-slash-money, and all I can say is…the devil made me do it.
Except the devil wasn’t quite finished with me.
After dumping the kraut down the drain, I turned on the disposal to pulverize the evidence. It roared and chewed and burped and spit, and then…
Then! It backwashed into the right side of the double sink.
I shut it off, then turned it on again, hoping it would obediently swallow the mess. Nope! Not a chance.In this episode of Stories from The Whiner, @KimberleyKoz proves it's possible to Age Without Brains. Click To Tweet
Ray, of course, was in the living room watching TV, and like his uber-sensitive noise, he has the uber-sensitive hearing of a hungry coyote. “Just how much is in there?”
I made a circle with my fingertips indicating about a third of what I’d really shoved down it. Hey, my mama didn’t raise no fool. Well, not foolish enough to admit to the full ugly truth.
Mumbling under his breath, Ray asked for the plunger and started clearing the dish rack from the sink. Obediently I ran for the plunger. “You’d better hope the clog is in the pipe,” he yelled, pointing to the trap under the sink. “I don’t want to have to call in a plumber.”
I had visions of Ray and a plumber that looked like Dan Ackroyd from 1970’s SNL squatting in front of the sink, shaking their heads while their butt crack cleavage deepened as they labored to repair the damage.
As Ray positioned the plunger over the disposal, he asked for a pail for the water to empty into. In the garage I found an old litter box. I also took a minute or five to play hide and seek with Buddy, our tabby, and Holly, our Siamese.
When I finally returned to the kitchen I found Ray wiping sauerkraut from his glasses. And the counter. And the window over the sink. Apparently the plunger forced a geyser out of both the right and left sinks, as well as the dish spray nozzle.
After he unclogged the disposal, Ray left me to clean up the mess. I guess I got off pretty light.
Suffice to say, after reading this–if you should happen to stop by and see a tiny sign over my sink that reads Remember: Sauerkraut – August 17, 1999—you won’t have any questions.