NewWifey(tm) and the Meatloaf of Doom

But first a word from our sponsor:

“Kids, has this ever happened to you? You buy a new computer and it comes with a wireless keyboard that’s powered by two AAA batteries. “Wow!” you think, “Now I can write my witty blog posts from across the room instead of at that boring old desk!” And you do!

But three months later the batteries die and your keyboard won’t work. “No problem” you say. “The $49.95 Salvation Army backup computer I bought a few years ago and threw out two weeks later had a keyboard, and I saved the keyboard just in case. Now where did I put it….” Eventually you find it in the back of the liquor cabinet, and hook it up. You can now resume blogging. And you do!

But only for 10 minutes. The Salvation Army computer was sold with a half sized keyboard, no doubt as part of the effort – along with things like not including a graphics card or audio card – to keep the cost below the price of a decent sandwich. You remember this when, 10 seconds after connecting it, you type “rtjhgbj atgbj0 ja wp, vsop0ji4 jko4e[wnnnnn fklw3-9ji” instead of “Your political views are stupid and I hate you” in an email to your boss.

Your stupid huge manly fingers either hit the wrong key, or multiple keys, every. single. time. You still can’t type!

Then the obvious solution hits you: just put new AAA batteries in the wireless keyboard. Duh! You run to your wife. “Honey, where do we keep the AAA batteries?” But she looks at you and says, “You put the last one in that novelty swimming plastic dolphin. The one you threw across the room when it sank in the tub and bit your balls. You threw it out, with our last AAA battery in it, remember?

You do. “Well then I’m going to the store to by AAA batteries. Hold my calls.”

You never get calls” she says. “And you’re not going to the store. There’s a global pandemic. You brought enough dried beans and powdered milk to last us for the next THREE pandemics so we’d never have to set foot in a store again, remember?”

You do. Dammit, the one disaster you didn’t foresee was a shortage of novelty dolphin and wireless keyboard power sources.

You grit your teeth and reconnect the half sized keyboard. Flaming your boss will have to wait.

But it turns out you won’t have to wait long. Because you’re out of Nutella.

“OH MY GOD! WE’RE OUT OF NUTELLA!” screams your wife. “GO TO THE STORE AND GET MORE!”

So you do. Apparently AAA batteries aren’t worth risking your life for, but creamy, rich, chocolate hazelnut spread is.

You don’t argue though, because the Nutella store also sells batteries. Your fat fingers can finally get relief! So you don your full Chernobyl survival suit and three Wuhan-proof respirators, and head to the store.

Success! You return, alive, and with every AAA battery blister pack they had on the pegboard, plus two economy orphanage-sized tubs of Nutella. That should shut her up for a while.

You insert two AAA’s into the wireless keyboard, throw the crappy half-sized one over the fence into the neighbor’s yard, and resume cementing your relationship with your boss.

And blogging.

AAA batteries. Get some today!”

Jesus. Is it just me or are these commercials getting longer and longer lately? I swear, they make these blogs practially unreadable sometimes. I wish WordPress would do something about them.

But yeah, it’s amazing how not having an adult sized keyboard can wreak havoc if all you have to use on it is adult sized fingers. And yes, I had to wait a couple of weeks before it was deemed safe to go to the store and purchase more. Lesson learned: next time steal them from NewWifey(tm)’s vibrator.

So. Meatloaf.

I make great meatloaf. In fact, I would venture to say that of all the ground meat concoc…oh, stop that. I saw you roll your eyes. You did, I saw it! Just shut up and listen for a second. I’ll make it brief, I promise.

I make great meatloaf. Aside from the fact that I’m just a flat out better cook than you, the real secret to my meatloaf superiority is…

Actually, let’s start this story with my dentist appointment.

Early last month I was scheduled to have my semi-annual dental cleaning, and my insistence on keeping that appointment almost broke our marriage. NewWifey(tm) was of the opinion that allowing a stranger to stick his hand 4 digits deep into my face during a global viral outbreak was a guaranteed death sentence, while I maintained that a medical office was probably the most scrubbed down type of office on the planet and I’d be fine. My superior logic did not sway her however, and our conversations regarding this became increasingly acrimonious as the day approached.

However the divorce proceedings were halted by the dentist himself, who called several day before my cleaning to tell us that the state health department ordered all dental procedures to be cancelled unless it was an emergency. My marriage was saved, although at the cost of having to put up with unsightly tartar buildup until they reopened.

To celebrate, I made meatloaf. As you know, meatloaf contains meat. And in our house, “meat” means “beef”, at least when it comes to meatloaf. I don’t do the beef/veal/pork mixture so prevalent in lesser households. Pffff. Amateurs.

Now as it happened, we had almost a cubic yard of ground beef sitting in our fridge from NewWifey(tm)’s last panic buy. She saw it on sale and scooped up as much as her shopping cart could hold. What she didn’t notice though was that it was 70/30 ground beef. Ie: 70% cow, 30%…not cow. Ok, ostensibly the 30% is fat. But it’s been my experience that anything less than 75/25 beef get “accidentally” overlooked by the inspectors. Have you ever had your car keys go missing? A loved one, perhaps? Go down to your local butcher and ask for 10 pounds of 70/30. You might get them back.

But 70/30 is all we had in the fridge, and there was meatloaf to be made. So 70/30 it was.

And NewWifey(tm) broke her tooth on it.

Yes, my wife broke her tooth on meatloaf.

In the middle of a pandemic.

She felt something hard, and heard a “crack!” when she bit down. She spit the entire mouthful out onto her plate, and there in the middle of the wad was a small, off-white plastic looking thing. “Look at that” she said, “there was a plastic bead mixed in with my meatl…..OWWWWW!

I picked up the bead. It sure didn’t look like any cosmetic accessory I’d ever seen before.

“Smile” I said to NewWifey(tm).

She gave a toothy grin. There was a gap on the left side, and putting the bead up against it covered it perfectly. I picked apart the rest of the bolus and found the offending jaw breaker: a small marble of bone or hard gristle, the perfect size to perform such a shattering if hit just right.

“Guess where you’re going” I said, picking up the phone.

Oh no. Oh no!” NewWifey(tm) practically started sobbing. “I can’t believe I’m doomed because of some stupid meatloaf! I’M TOO YOUNG TO DIE FROM MEATLOAF!

Once I managed to convince the dentist’s answering service that my wife really did break her tooth on meatloaf, they said they would get in touch with him as soon as possible. Sure enough, the dentist called back a few minutes later and said he could see her that afternoon. But she had to arrive alone to cut down on as much risk as possible.

I could see her face in the rear view mirror as the Subaru pulled out of the driveway. She had that look I always imagined was on the faces of French nobility being led to the guillotine during the Revolution. Terrified, but determined not to let the hoi polloi know it. She was paler than that shattered tooth shard.

Almost two hours later NewWifey(tm) returned, ashen faced and wide-eyed, but not screaming in pain any more. The dentist did a root canal and set in a temporary crown, and he shot NewWifey(tm) so full of pain killers that the ear, eyebrow, and nostril on that side of her face were all still numb. She could barely speak…but did.

Is there any meatloaf left? I’m starving.

I tell ya, I make GREAT meatloaf. Chew on that, guys.

Ciao!

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