Every time, every single fucking time. So I warm up the left over spaghetti, I take it out of the goddamn microwave, and what fucking happens, the spaghetti slides right off the fucking plate. Every fucking noodle, every one of the six meatballs, every bit of sauce splattered all of the counters and floor. And what do you know, barely any paper towels left.
First I pick up the noodles of death and put them back on the plate, put the meatballs back on, one by one until all six are safely on the plate. I then grab the paper towers and try to wipe the sauce off the floor. Eventually I run out of paper towels, so I grab the convenient little towel that isn't used for fucking anything but goddamn decoration, and I wipe it's face in the splatter sauce, I wipe the counters. The little cloth cow that hangs between the handle on the cabinet looks like I just got slaughter in the meat grinder, sauce all of it's face, probably won't ever come out.
Once I get the majority of it cleaned out, I take my plate, go in my room, and type this nice little rant to make me feel better, as a await for my 78 year old great grandmother to realize what happened, if she ever will. I'm sure she'll notice the sauce on the cloth cow, or the missing decoration of a fucking towel, or the fact that the floors are somewhat wet and slippery.
I will now eat my fucking spaghetti, and hope to god I don't get salmonella. And as much as the last fifteen minutes sucked, it wouldn't have been as bad if that was the first time this happened, but no, that fucking slippery ass spaghetti falls of those flat glass plates every single fucking time. Well fuck you spaghetti, and your elusive ass noodles.
Well now...I feel a little better.
First I pick up the noodles of death and put them back on the plate, put the meatballs back on, one by one until all six are safely on the plate. I then grab the paper towers and try to wipe the sauce off the floor. Eventually I run out of paper towels, so I grab the convenient little towel that isn't used for fucking anything but goddamn decoration, and I wipe it's face in the splatter sauce, I wipe the counters. The little cloth cow that hangs between the handle on the cabinet looks like I just got slaughter in the meat grinder, sauce all of it's face, probably won't ever come out.
Once I get the majority of it cleaned out, I take my plate, go in my room, and type this nice little rant to make me feel better, as a await for my 78 year old great grandmother to realize what happened, if she ever will. I'm sure she'll notice the sauce on the cloth cow, or the missing decoration of a fucking towel, or the fact that the floors are somewhat wet and slippery.
I will now eat my fucking spaghetti, and hope to god I don't get salmonella. And as much as the last fifteen minutes sucked, it wouldn't have been as bad if that was the first time this happened, but no, that fucking slippery ass spaghetti falls of those flat glass plates every single fucking time. Well fuck you spaghetti, and your elusive ass noodles.
Well now...I feel a little better.
