Darn you, Manwich, for not speaking to the masses!
I left Big V alone with the children.
Which meant the house was clean, the pantry was stocked, the toddler had just drifted off to sleep, the teenager was taking her 4th nap of the day and the 10-year old was in the car heading out with me.
All he needed to do was sit on the couch and ensure the safe escape of two children should the house spontaneously burst into flames.
And also he needed to make dinner.
"The frying pan is already on the stove," I said, pointing to the pan sitting on the stove.
"The can of Manwich is already next to the stove on the counter," I continued, pointing to the can of Manwich sitting on the counter next to the stove.
"As are the buns." I pointed to the buns.
"All you need to do is get the hamburger out of the fridge and fry it in the pan. Then, drain the grease. Put the Manwich in. Heat it up for a few minutes and it'll be ready to eat."
Big V looked at the stove. "So, I just fry the hamburger? Drain the grease? Put the Manwich in and cook it?"
"Yep. Fry the hamburger. Drain the grease. Put the Manwich in. Stir it all together and let it cook for a bit."
"How long do I cook it?"
"Uh... I don't know. You'll have to read the can. The directions are on there. I'm late - but just read the directions."
Fast Forward two hours....
I'm sitting in the middle of a rehearsal. People are singing. I'm supposed to be singing. But I have six missed calls from Big V and another one coming in... someone must be hurt. Maybe Cletus fell down the basement steps; dammit! I've told them to make sure that door is closed! What if he broke his neck? What if he has brain damage? Ohmygod - what if he got strangled in the window blinds? That's why I tell them not to lift the blinds all the way up - the cord gets too long and drags on the floor and he likes to pull on it and what if it got twisted around his little neck and I need to take this call!
"WHAT HAPPENED?!!!"
"These are the stupidest directions ever!"
"Is Cletus okay? Is he hurt? Can he breathe?!"
"It doesn't tell you anything!"
"Are you at the hopsital? Which hospital?!"
"All it says is 'heat through' - it doesn't give you a time frame or anything!"
"Do you hear that music in the background? That's me not singing at my rehearsal."
"I fried up the meat then drained the grease - which was a pain because I couldn't find a bowl big enough --"
"Bowl?"
"You know, to catch the grease. I found the strainer but I couldn't just let the grease go down the drain and all the bowls in the kitchen were too small. I finally found one big enough to rest the strainer on - in that fancy cabinet in the living room with all that pottery in there that you collect."
"You poured hamburger fat in a one of a kind Frank Breneisen?"
"Who's Frank?"
"The man's pottery I collect. Which happens to be the only thing I collect. Which I happen to love more than life itself. Which you happened to use to put grease in."
"I thought you loved me more than life itself."
"At this moment, not so much."
"Anyway. These directions are stupid. After I drained the grease I read the directions and it just says heat through. That's it! Heat through. What is that supposed to mean? There's no temperature, no time limit. Am I supposed to cook it for ten minutes? Twenty? In the oven? On the stove? Whoever wrote these directions didn't do a very good job."
"Why don't you just put it on the stove and turn it on low and cook it until it's warm enough for you to eat. You know, until it's heated through enough to be an enjoyable meal?"
"How long is that going to take?"
"Turn the knob to number 3 and set the timer to eight minutes."
"Well, why didn't they just say that on the label?"
Which meant the house was clean, the pantry was stocked, the toddler had just drifted off to sleep, the teenager was taking her 4th nap of the day and the 10-year old was in the car heading out with me.
All he needed to do was sit on the couch and ensure the safe escape of two children should the house spontaneously burst into flames.
And also he needed to make dinner.
"The frying pan is already on the stove," I said, pointing to the pan sitting on the stove.
"The can of Manwich is already next to the stove on the counter," I continued, pointing to the can of Manwich sitting on the counter next to the stove.
"As are the buns." I pointed to the buns.
"All you need to do is get the hamburger out of the fridge and fry it in the pan. Then, drain the grease. Put the Manwich in. Heat it up for a few minutes and it'll be ready to eat."
Big V looked at the stove. "So, I just fry the hamburger? Drain the grease? Put the Manwich in and cook it?"
"Yep. Fry the hamburger. Drain the grease. Put the Manwich in. Stir it all together and let it cook for a bit."
"How long do I cook it?"
"Uh... I don't know. You'll have to read the can. The directions are on there. I'm late - but just read the directions."
Fast Forward two hours....
I'm sitting in the middle of a rehearsal. People are singing. I'm supposed to be singing. But I have six missed calls from Big V and another one coming in... someone must be hurt. Maybe Cletus fell down the basement steps; dammit! I've told them to make sure that door is closed! What if he broke his neck? What if he has brain damage? Ohmygod - what if he got strangled in the window blinds? That's why I tell them not to lift the blinds all the way up - the cord gets too long and drags on the floor and he likes to pull on it and what if it got twisted around his little neck and I need to take this call!
"WHAT HAPPENED?!!!"
"These are the stupidest directions ever!"
"Is Cletus okay? Is he hurt? Can he breathe?!"
"It doesn't tell you anything!"
"Are you at the hopsital? Which hospital?!"
"All it says is 'heat through' - it doesn't give you a time frame or anything!"
"Do you hear that music in the background? That's me not singing at my rehearsal."
"I fried up the meat then drained the grease - which was a pain because I couldn't find a bowl big enough --"
"Bowl?"
"You know, to catch the grease. I found the strainer but I couldn't just let the grease go down the drain and all the bowls in the kitchen were too small. I finally found one big enough to rest the strainer on - in that fancy cabinet in the living room with all that pottery in there that you collect."
"You poured hamburger fat in a one of a kind Frank Breneisen?"
"Who's Frank?"
"The man's pottery I collect. Which happens to be the only thing I collect. Which I happen to love more than life itself. Which you happened to use to put grease in."
"I thought you loved me more than life itself."
"At this moment, not so much."
"Anyway. These directions are stupid. After I drained the grease I read the directions and it just says heat through. That's it! Heat through. What is that supposed to mean? There's no temperature, no time limit. Am I supposed to cook it for ten minutes? Twenty? In the oven? On the stove? Whoever wrote these directions didn't do a very good job."
"Why don't you just put it on the stove and turn it on low and cook it until it's warm enough for you to eat. You know, until it's heated through enough to be an enjoyable meal?"
"How long is that going to take?"
"Turn the knob to number 3 and set the timer to eight minutes."
"Well, why didn't they just say that on the label?"
Comments
OH MY GOSH WHY CAN'T FIND ANY GOOGLE IMAGES OF ORIGINAL FRANK BRENEISENs?!!!
I was at a department party once and our genius (literally) department chair was staring dumbfounded at the beeping oven timer. He said "Will someone get my wife, this thing is beeping!"