Honey, it spilled.

If we were the odd couple, I'd be Felix Unger. I don't mind toys and clothes and papers everywhere. And stacks and stacks of books--that's urbane decor. But I'll often clean the entire kitchen before I'll eat in it. Can't stand spilled food on the floor or counter or doorknobs or anywhere. I actually will move furniture and vaccuum and scrub the table and counter, and take out the trash. Then I can sit and sip coffee. Nothing must interrupt breakfast. I can be hard to live with around the kitchen. But today was my day....

The milk was not up to my sensitive GI standards, so cereal was out. No point baking cinnamon rolls; Wendy had left several of those huge flaky Grands biscuits in a pan. So I heated them and got some coffee. The table and floor were passable, so it was all about ready. Marshall was hunched over the table, drawing his heart out the way he does. Twila was reluctantly helping Wendy with the laundry. I was looking forward to sitting and reading and pondering what I would do with an entire Saturday free.

Soon the rolls were hot. The coffee was hot. Only one thing was lacking. I found it in the cabinet. Honey. Perfect for those flaky rolls, right? But it had grown thick the way honey does. So I popped it into the microwave for "1:00." But the oven is new. And the bottle was a plastic bear, not glass or something microwave-proof. I stopped it just in time. The honey--now thin as water--was boiling. I got it out, made sure the top was flipped open to release the steam. Carried it over to the table. Set it down to cool. But the heat had grown a tumor on the bear. It seemed to sit level, but when I stepped back, it tipped over. I dashed for it. Suddenly, something thick and crystalized popped out of the squirt-top....

Have you seen what champagne does when the cork is popped out? Well, then you have no idea what this was like. Think Mount Saint Helens. Pompeii. Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Imagine a team of professional fire fighters pointing a huge spray up at a third-story window. Water flying everywhere, soaking everything, dripping from every surface. But in this case, the water immediately cooled and thickened and darkened into something between honey and molasses. And there it was--oozing. From the table, from the chairs, from the walls, the blinds, the curtains, the carpet, and the upholstered chair the Felix in me never welcomed in the kitchen in the first place.

Normally honey is tolerable--being so thick, it won't make a huge mess if it spills, right? But if you raise its temperature to 211.9--or whatever the boiling point of honey is at this low altitude--you can render it thin as water, and boy, does it spray!

Suddenly I knew what I would be doing with my Saturday.