So, in my last post, I talked about writing some bad poetry about my old gas stove and my new kitty statue.
I need silly today. I’m tired of the other stuff. Just for right now.
No Chef, No Magic
cooking with gas.
As long as the stove is not a 1980’s dinosaur.
This stove, my stove
claims to be a Magic Chef.
There is no magic. There is no chef.
The oven lies about it’s heat
by around 50 degrees
As far as we can tell.
Which works fine for casseroles.
Baking requires specific and even oven temps.
What this stove did
to a batch of brownies
Is a sin against god and nature.
Soon, you will be gone.
A shiny stove with an impressive top
That will give the impression I am
a better cook than I am.
You will be hauled away
from your only home.
And left to rust for all of eternity
with dryers and freezers.
Which is what you get
for what you did the brownies.
Tall, Skinny Kitty
Nothing about you
speaks of Christmas.
But Christmas is a part of you.
Because this Christmas
Everyone in my family bought me cat presents.
I did not know
that Christmas number 55
is the cat Christmas.
Even my husband participated.
With a kitty shot glass
and a kitty coffee mug with a kitty flipping the bird.
And the tall, skinny cat.
He came from my sister
The tall skinny cat lives in my bedroom
His expression is between compassionate
and ax murderer.
He is here to stay.
Yet, I haven’t removed the plastic tag
that Home Goods or Bed, Bath and Beyond
put around his neck.
I should probably do that.
Cat Christmas is amazing.
Okay, that’s enough bad poetry and silliness. Let’s get back to the shitshow!!