Biscuits and Other Worthy Opponents

Have you ever thought to yourself at 3am, “Self, you should learn to make biscuits from scratch”. Of course I MUST learn to make bread from scratch, how else can I consider myself The Perfect Wife? I’m pretty sure my biscuit deficiency is the only thing standing between me and this coveted title. This goal must be achieved!

My last attempt at biscuits could have landed me a job as a brick mason. Biscuits are not easy. My great-aunt could turn lard and flour into little fluffy bites of heaven. My grandmother could turn cucumbers into pickles by putting them into her magic pantry in a jar and ignoring them for weeks. POOF! Pickles! Imagine that! My grandfather could make magic fruit juice from a grape that he wouldn’t share with anyone but my grandmother on special occasions.

Biscuits. I consider that it might be a recessive gene. Do I have a biscuit-gifting? I don’t really make anything special that I know of. On second thought, I can make yogurt. I love yogurt. Warm up some milk, add a little culture, and 6 hours later you have healthy goodness. Holy Moly-I just realized I have super-powers too!

I hop out of bed with all the enthusiasm one can have before the first cup(s) of coffee, determined to overcome the missing biscuit chromosome. I get to the kitchen with my new goal in mind, feeling that all will be right in the universe and I will achieve “Perfect Wife” status by no later than 3p.m at the very least. I reach for the pot to make coffee and there he is…sitting on my microwave like he owns the place.

We lock eyes…he stands up to full height and sniffs at me. I can tell he’s sizing me up. Slowly I reach for a weapon, but all that is close by is my favorite coffee cup. RATS! (No pun intended). I’m glaring at him; he’s staring back at me with his beady little eyes. The seconds tick by. This standoff has been going for what seems to be an eternity. Who does this guy think he is?

I hesitate. He takes advantage of my momentary pause and makes a dash for the screen door. I lunge at him like the warrior-princess I know myself to be, but alas, his skills are too much for me! I’m sure I heard him laughing as he whizzed past me towards safety. This guy has wicked-mad ninja skills- he didn’t even wake the dog on his way out the door.

I shout out the door after him, “There will be another day you little beady-eyed scallawag…!” That’s it. I’m firing the cat first thing today. My husband wanders into the kitchen blinking at the morning light streaming in the room. “Mandy, what on earth are you doing out here?”

“Nothing. Um… How about eggs and toast for breakfast?”

Well played Mr. Mouse, well played.