A lick and a promise

Ugh. I just put my hand on about half a tube of chapstick, that Mabel dug carefully out of its home with a pin and smeared all over something. She was being quiet so I left her alone, riffling through the contents of the "not for kids" bowl that lives on the kitchen counter and is full of sharp implements, lipsticks, and broken pieces of things that need to be fixed. Except that now we don't know what they belonged to, and we can't throw them away because as soon as we do, we will find the thing they were part of and it will be indispensible.

( I always thought "riffling through" was pronounced like rifle. The second f went unnoticed by me, becuase riffle is a flitting word, like whiffle or sniffle, whereas to rifle through denoted a sense of urgency and seriousness that I felt always went with the action. Nobody slowly riffles through the contents of a drawer in a leisurely manner to find the vital clue, or takes their sweet time riffling through a sheaf of documents in search of the deeds to the mansion. So I persist in saying rifle, even if I spell it the other way.)

Okay. Here's a thing. Apparently I haven't blogged since Tuesday. So I'm going to do a week of dinners again, starting tomorrow with tonight's dinner. I have no idea at this point what tonight's dinner will be, and I'm not even sure what's in the cupboard, so it will be a truly suspense-filled, spontaneous experience for all of us. Come back tomorrow and see what happened.