Of Aliens and Onions

My family says I have no sense of humor, and I want them to know they are seriously wrong. A humorless gal wouldn’t put herself out there for the whole world to see looking like a roast suckling alien (more on the goggles later).

First, you can’t change up to 32,000 diapers in your lifetime and not have the ability to laugh in the face of Der Poopinator. Call it bathroom humor, if you will, but you’ve got to focus on the amusing aspects of the situation when someone pees (with amazing accuracy) all over the shirt you just ironed.

Now, the slapstick routine of picking up the same shirts, hairclips, smelly shoes, wet socks, toys, sippy cups, bits of food, underpants, lip glosses, book bags, text books, magic markers, blankies, fur balls, marbles, Legos, spare parts, curling irons, dishes, and I-don’t-know-whatzits from the same places around the house seven times in the same day – that most certainly requires a funny bone. My feng shui got up and feng shwent a long time ago, but there’s still some sort of harmony in the hilarious.

Then there’s kitchen comedy. Last night for dinner I made what I’ll call Parody Pot Roast. This took seven hours to make, required a special trip to the Spanish food shop for smoked paprika, and tasted like, well… I’d say the dog’s food gets higher marks. Ha ha, ho ho, hee hee, the joke’s on me.

But a little side note on those glasses: they’re called OnionGoggles, and with the dense foam that encloses the eye socket, they guarantee tear-free onion slicing (and I slice a lot of 'em). Plus, they look pretty darn funny, especially with a color-coordinated apple. So you can’t really say I don’t have a flair for the farcical…