The Devil Made Me Do It




Last Sunday, it being a day of rest for all decent, God-fearing folk like myself, I got up at the crack of noon and proceeded to make pancakes for all and sundry.  Well, every cake I made stuck to the "non-stick" pan and tasted great but looked like there had been a magnitude 8.5 earthquake in the kitchen.  I tried turning up the heat, turning down the heat, using more oil, using less oil, and, finally, swearing at the pan.  We ate the pancakes and, like I said, they tasted great but looked like crap. 


When we were done, my husband decided he was going to make himself another one and he went into the kitchen (obviously) and cooked A PERFECT PANCAKE!  I mean, it was a work of art!  I was bewitched, bothered and bewildered.  And not necessarily in that order.  HOW did he manage to do that?  Not a single piece of batter stuck to the pan AND HE WAS USING THE SAME BATTER AND THE SAME  PAN!!!!!  I was livid!  Of course, I couldn't ask him how he did it because he'd give me a sermon on how to cook a pancake and not have it look like shit, so I let it go.  But it bothered me for the rest of the day (as you can see, I have very little of what one would call a life).  And then, in a flash, I had it!  Why, the answer was right there in front of me as plain as day.  He had sold his soul to the devil in exchange for making the perfect pancake!  What other reason could there be?  I reeled backwards.  Then I reeled forwards.  Then I reeled from side to side.  (The Irish have always been famous for their reels.)

A few days later, having sufficiently medicated myself on several gin and tonics, I sallied forth into the kitchen and decided to give it another go.  Well, I declare to Jack Rafferty and his three-eyed cat, Phil, didn't I just make two of the most perfect pancakes imaginable!  Martha Stewart would have gone "Well, I can't do better than that".  So we sat down and enjoyed our delicious cakes and then I wondered - how could I make such a hash of the last ones and these ones were perfect?  I made the same batter.  Used the same pan.  And I was pretty sure that I was the same person and not some body double. (Just to be sure, I held up three fingers behind my back and asked myself how many there were.  When I answered correctly, I heaved a great sigh of relief.  I was, indeed, who I suspected I was.)

 My mind was in a fog (my usual state).  And then I had it!  The awful realization hit me like a...large hitty thing.  My husband must have sold MY soul to the devil, too!  What other explanation could there be? How DARE he!  Without so much as asking how I felt about owing my very soul to the Prince of Darkness!  Well, I was FURIOUS!  And most angry.  I don't want to spend eternity roasting the arse off myself in everlasting flames and soot and dust.  I mean, I like heat, but COME ON!  And the worst part is I don't even BELIEVE in the devil! 



Well, now I'm a goner.  I get to spend eternity (or, at the very least, an EXTREMELY long time) being roasted alive in a place I don't believe in and being prodded and poked by a fucker I'm sure is imaginary.  



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

THE RIGHT STUFF

Image
I was walking down the street - which I highly recommend if you intend getting from one place to another - when I noticed a sign outside a store which read "Discount For Seniors And The Military."  I was immediately struck by lightning.  No, wait, that was a dream I had.  I was immediately struck by how progressive the Canadian Army was. They not only welcomed little gay people into their ranks, they were now accepting seniors!  What an innovative idea!  I realized this was a revolutionary approach to ending all conflicts.   You form an elite unit of senior citizens - they really should have their own distinct regiment - maybe the Pension Platoon or the Senior Squad - and place them on the front lines of battle.  As older people usually get up early, an attack at dawn is a piece of cake.  Then, when the order to charge is given, they stroll across no man's land pushing their walkers, stop halfway for a quick nap before knitting a scarf for th...
Read more

A VISIT TO THE DOCTOR

Image
 I was up bright and early this morning as I had an appointment with the doctor to establish the cause of certain pain in my lower back (read bum).  After much poking and prodding, the doctor said "Can you PLEASE stop playing with my medical equipment and lie down on the bed?"  In my own defence, I argued that I had once entertained dreams of becoming a medical practitioner and so had a professional right to examine the various devices which were lying about.  The doctor, a stern-looking woman who would not have been out of place in a high security prison ward, was not amused.  She proceeded to examine me by pulling and pushing my body into various positions which I was sure left me qualified to apply to a circus as a contortionist.   Finally, she informed me that I have sciatica, pain affecting the back, hip, and outer side of the leg, caused by compression of a spinal nerve root in the lower back, often owing to degeneration of an intervertebral disk...
Read more

MY FIRST (AND LAST) NATIVITY PLAY

Image
  I was beside myself with excitement.  Sister Margaret Mary, my convent high school headmistress (the personification of pure evil - picture the nun from the movie of the same name), had just announced that the school would be presenting a nativity play for Christmas.  I had always dreamed of being an actor and figured this was my big opportunity to have the entire school witness my outstanding dramatic talents.  And I assumed that Sister Margaret Mary, having heard my many and various excuses for being late, realized that I was the obvious choice for a leading role. I was sure that I was a shoo-in for the virgin Mary as I was a virgin myself and I knew a guy named Joseph, so you can imagine my absolute shock when the cast list was posted and I was to play 'Shepherd #2', with one measly line - 'Here is the babe."  Here is the babe?  What kind of completely pointless remark was that?  Any idiot could see that the babe was right there in the straw....
Read more