Incomers Musings

By Louise Froggett

Sometimes, I think the cosmos is against us. Forget Newton and Einstein and the big laws and theories, I believe it’s Murphy’s Law and the Law of Unintended Consequences that govern our lives.

Today alone, my husband had a really rough time. While having breakfast, he managed to dribble yogurt on his pants. Then, tonight, while trying to navigate a steamed carrot from plate to mouth, it flew off the fork and landed on those same beleaguered pants. Of course, butter and pepper were involved so now we had a greasy mess and…more laundry.

It reminded me of our good friend “L” who, while rushing around getting ready to go to work, had a bit of an accident with a yogurt container. Suddenly she was holding a lid without a container attached, the yogurt hit the floor and splashed everywhere; all over the fridge, the cabinets, the floor and her clothes. While her partner sat downstairs, waiting to drive her to work, she flew around trying to clean up. Mopping up frantically, then throwing on different clothes (flinging the dirty garments toward the hamper) she rushed out the door. I can only imagine his shock when he returned home, walked into the normally pristine kitchen, and his feet stuck to the floor. As I recall, it took a long time before all evidence of the great yogurt debacle was erased.

Sometimes, the best of intentions are behind dubious actions. My dear husband is always coming up with innovative ways to “save me from washing too many dishes.” Now, we broil most of our meat, but the oven broiling pan is a huge thing, generally way larger than needed for the little piece of meat we usually share. He uses our small broiling pan but, because it sits too far below the oven element, he stacks it on part of the larger pan. I think you can probably see where this is going.

Recently, we bought these lovely little lamb chops at Thrifty’s. As I selected music and lit the candles, my husband was taking the chops out of the oven. Suddenly, there is a screaming commotion, a crash and a whole lot of bad language. As I flew into the kitchen he was grabbing the top of the broiling pan off the floor and throwing it into the sink before it melted the tiles. There was a lamb chop on the floor, one in the bottom of the oven, and the other two had skidded to a halt on the open oven door. I didn’t even want to contemplate the clean-up to come, so I rescued the chops (no fluff, good enough), plopped them onto the plates and said, “Dinner is served.”

An hour later, I returned to fix the mess. No matter how I scrubbed at the oven, I couldn’t seem to remove the greasy mess, so decided running the self-clean was the best option. I removed the racks and pulled out the drawer beneath. Great! Under the stove was a shriveled up noodle, two pieces of popcorn and a vitamin D tablet that had escaped into oblivion two weeks earlier. I guess I’m washing the floor too. Instead of “washing too many dishes,” I’m taking the kitchen apart, washing the floor and, the following day, will scrub the inside of the oven because the self-clean didn’t remove the horrid mess.

Of course, in the grand scheme of things, this is just an aggravation. While we no longer stack the broiling pans, I am under no illusion that we have any control over Mr Murphy or the Unintended Consequences.