Cliff came in at 1 P.M. for dinner, as usual. I filled his plate, and it was a thing of beauty: Meat loaf, a baked potato, sliced tomato, a wedge of cooked cabbage, and a serving of cucumbers and onion. He often says to me, "I don't know whether to eat this or take a picture of it."
He picked up his plate, took a step toward the living room (yes, we usually eat in the living room so Cliff can watch that stupid show, "My Name is Earl").
Then he made a quick U-turn, deciding to try and wring some ketchup out of the almost empty ketchup bottle.
Somehow he bumped a kitchen chair with his plate, and the plate full of food landed upside-down on the floor.
Of course he was extremely upset, and at one point looked as though he was about to get down on hands and knees and lick all that mess up off the floor; maybe he would have if we didn't have a constantly-shedding dog. I handed him my own filled plate and told him to go ahead and eat, I'd clean up the mess. Actually, Iris helped. She happens to like meat loaf.
I wasn't in the mood to run out to the shop to get another baking-sized potato, clean it up, and microwave it, so I warmed up some leftover noodles. Starch is starch, right?
Oh, and I'm sorry if you're a women's lib person and don't think I should be filling Cliff's plate. He tends to take too much if he fills his own. Besides, he heads out the door to work pretty soon, while I stay home and do whatever my heart desires.