Adventures in Indian Cooking
Too much time on my hands today. It’s a “regular” work day, in that I have to be in the office, but except for an early morning problem, I’ve not been called on to do anything, nor do I expect to be for another few hours. The plan was originally to put the Christmas lights up outside my office, but I’m finding I can’t be bothered in this drizzle. The sun is trying to break through, and I find I’m actually hoping it’s unsuccessful in the endeavor.
The Professor cooked yet another Indian meal last night – lamb with onions. I am reluctant to be anything but supportive, but I don’t know how much more of this my gastrointestinal tract can take. His tolerance for hot/spicey far exceeds mine, a fact which I’ve gently reminded him of a few times. He reassured me last night that he’d kept the recipes toned down (the lamb with a side dish of califlower), but when I first tasted the califlower my eyes filled with tears. “Well, the califlower was larger than they called for,” he said, “so I added a couple more chile peppers to the recipe.” The lamb was good, but I had to leave most of the sauce with it’s dried red pepper and onions behind on my plate. He was, of course, hurt by this apparent disenchantment on my part. I, on the other hand, didn’t hurt too badly until this morning when the processed results were rejected by the nether end of my intestinal tract. Damn, but that stuff hurt as badly exiting as it did entering. And we won’t even discuss the onion<->gas connection, which makes it fortunate that there are no visitors expected in my office today.
Speaking of culinary adventures, the Kitten from Hell seems hellbent on getting herself readmitted to the veterinary hospital. I found the Pounce container on the floor, with puncture wounds to the cap and bottom. Little itty bitty kitty teeth puncture wounds. I can just imagine what the contents of that would have done to her pancreas. And my carpet, by way of by-product. Fortunately, the only result was a punctured can. She had to have gotten up on the kitchen counter and then somehow reached behind the cannisters to get at that damn can. Gods help me if she figures out how to open the kitchen cabinets.
She has (obviously) returned to her spunky ways, though, and was busy picking fights with the Clueless Wonder and the Warrior Princess all last night. She’s also developed a new trick of attempting to gnaw on my thumb when I’m petting her. She does this with her carnasials, and not with the front incisors, so I’m assuming that she is finally getting around to erupting the last of her adult teeth. The Professor thinks this not-very-effectatious gnawing is cute, and I’ve been trying to warn him not to encourage it. The last thing I want is for KfH to develop into an orally fixated cat.
As for me, I’m still stinging over the comment the Prof made last night about needing a crowbar to pry me away from the computer. I’m beginning to feel like I don’t have any time I can call my own when I’m in the apartment. Don’t know how much of this is me being moody and how much of it is him being needy. I do know that I am tired of being expected to have ESP when it comes to figuring out when he wants “quality time”. I feel like I’m being set up half the time. He wanders into the area, sits down, starts playing with one of the cats, and then the next thing I know I’m in trouble because I didn’t dump whoever I was talking to on the web or whatever project I was doing (bill paying, searches for a new web host, photograph editing, whatever) to come over and sit next to him.
“What I think we have here, son, is a failure to communicate.”
Five points to whomever can identify the source of that quote.