I take a shower around 4 p.m. (A busy day)
Head to the kitchen to get started on dinner. While I chop zucchini and peppers to roast on the barbecue, Clay alternates between scarfing the vegetables out of the bowl and diddling around with the sealed bottle of marinade.
Vegetables chopped, I pull off the tight seal on the top of the marinade, not realizing that Clay has managed to unscrew the top almost completely. The key word there is “almost.”
I shake the marinade vigorously to mix the oil with the other ingredients.
The lid pops off and the marinade explodes out of the bottle, hitting the windowsill behind the sink, the wall, the counter and going up my nose. A gob lands on my head and is dripping down my face. My glasses are covered with thick drops.
I grope for the kitchen rag that is usually by the spigot to start cleaning up. It is missing. Clay loves the thick Handi Wipes. Something in the texture lures him, and he walks around holding them and dropping them wherever he is.
I dry off as best I can using an apron that is hanging on a nail near the pantry. Go in search of the rag, minus my glasses. I cover the whole first floor. No rag. I cover the backyard. No rag. Ten minutes later I find it on the floor in Clay’s bedroom. Don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to check there first.
I clean up the walls and the counter, my head and my glasses. My shirt is coated with marinade. I smell like a walking salad, but I can’t smell it because I still have marinade up my nose.
Where is Clay all of this time? After opening the bottle of marinade and hiding the rag, his work was done. He is busy watching The Lorax on his computer.
Moral of the story: Don’t buy the Heavy-Duty Handi Wipes.