There's Been A Resurgence Of Ruination And Rancor

Here I was, bobbing complacently along the Lazy River of Retirement, having survived the Rapids of The Pony's Return... when I was sucked into the Maelstrom of Squalor and Grime! Pardon me. I'm still spitting and choking from fighting my way to the surface.

Wednesday morning/afternoon, I started preparing supper. Just to have it ready for a quick warm-up. No need to inconvenience myself for two hours during my prime lair time, for the sole purpose of laying out sustenance for Farmer H and The Pony to dish up and scarf down in 10 minutes. They shall eat on MY TIME, and not before.

Anyhoo... I got out the big roaster pan and filled it with baby carrots sprinkled with Hidden Valley Ranch powder. I sliced five yellow onions and cut them in wedges. Added them with their own sprinkle of Ranch. I let them have about 30 minutes to themselves in the oven, then started peeling and cutting up potatoes. Of course they got some Ranch powder! The whole pan was topped with Peppered Bacon. Farmer H bought it somewhere (hopefully not an auction or parking lot) a while back. I checked the expiration date. It was good until September.

The whole pan baked another 45 minutes or so. I told The Pony I was taking it out to turn over the bacon. He'd sniffed the aroma from his room, and ventured that he might eat some of the vegetables for lunch. He came to the kitchen and got a bowl.

"Use the slotted spoon to dip them out. There. That big one, with the blue handle."

The Pony's first choice had been a straight plastic spoon, with barely a scoop on the end. It would have been like trying to spoon up clams with a single chopstick. The slotted spoon is about 12 inches long, with a fat plastic handle with grippy thingies, and has a scooped-out slotted part about the size of a large Roma tomato. Great for dipping out baby carrots and sliced wedges of potatoes.

I was arranging the bacon slices on a plate, readying them for draining, with a plan to return a few to the pan for more oven time. The Pony had filled his bowl, and laid the slotted spoon across the end of the roaster pan, the end still mounded with potatoes.

"Wait! That's not gonna--"

I reached to save the slotted spoon from gravity, but the heavy handle succumbed before I could get a grip. That slotted spoon did a half-flip and landed on the kitchen linoleum.

"Pony. I was trying to tell you that it wouldn't stay there like that!"

"It didn't fall until you touched it!"

"Now there's bacon grease all over the floor."

"I'll wipe it up."

The Pony busied himself with picking the onion out of his bowl, to return it to the pan. Then he got a fork. Then he picked up the salt grinder and the pepper grinder. Then selected a single slice of bacon.

I caved, and ripped off a paper towel. I wet it and added soap, and started wiping up the tile-size splash of bacon grease and flecks of Ranch powder spices.

"I SAID I would do that!"

"Yes. But when? And I'm sure it would be a quick wipe with a dry paper towel, leaving the greasy residue, that would then stick to my sock, and build up a dark stain of grit over the next few days."

Off The Pony went to his room (!) to enjoy his hot lunch.

Here's the thing. The Pony is not dumb. He's got a scientific mind. HOW could he not understand the basic principles of physics? An object is not stable unless its center of gravity is located within its base of support! Anybody would have seen that the slotted spoon was heavier on the handle end. So the spoon's center of gravity was nearer to the handle than the slotted part.

Yet The Pony had tried to balance it with the middle on the rim of the roaster pan! With its center of gravity hanging over the edge like an ample rumpus trying to sit on a metal handrail. It teetered when he set it down. It was like he used the rim of the roaster pan as the fulcrum for a teeter-totter with a frail kid on the potato side, and a husky kid on the end sticking out in space over the kitchen floor.

I expected more from that little son-of-a-physics-teacher!