The rice incident of 2017.

Today – which is about a week ago when you read this – I started to make dinner. At the same time I was supposed to plan a post, how to introduce NOTHING BUT A COONSKIN CAP.

I got my cooking stuff, pots and pans and the ingredients all set up. Although it was monday I was feeling good. “Getting things done, sun is shining in, about to get some food…”

At this point things took dramatic turn for the worse.

A bag of rice exploded right to my face as I was opening it.

I’m not even exaggerating. The bag exploded to my face, covering the whole kitchen in little white particles. It was like getting out of a church after you’ve gotten married and all the wedding guests really hate you! It was an organic Jas-Mine blast! It was Apocalypse Basmati!

Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but after the initial shock and when the echoes of cussing had died down, the whole cooking area was covered in rice.

“Vacuum cleaner, broom broom, all the good mood is goone.”

The rest of the cooking went fine. No tomato tried to stab me or red pepper call me names. An onion tried to appeal to my sense of pity, but I’m a seasoned veteran of such interactions, and I wasn’t gonna fall for his manipulation.

And whaddya know, every rice grain has a silver lining: I got this writing thingy done and I got food.