As I've noted in the past, I have what appears to be a monthly tendency to do something completely idiotic in the kitchen or with kitchen-related items.
So today I bring to you January's edition of Lindy Loo stupidity.
I am cheap. I don't care. The only real problem I run into with my cheapness is with garbage bags, since the cheap ones I buy appear to be made of one-ply toilet paper. I don't have a long hike to the garbage though, so it's always been a non-issue.
But last night, I forgot about the heaviness of litter-box garbage, and I convinced myself that the small hole in the side of the bag would maintain its size long enough for me to make it down my stairs and out to the garbage.
Instead, it lasted about 6 stairs down into my hallway where it decided to morph into a gaping maw of a vomitous hole, spewing every single bit of garbage down the stairs while I shouted MOTHERFUCK and stamped my feet really loudly in a sort of tantrum-esque move that really wasn't effective at all.
It wouldn't've been quite so bad had it not been for the fact that the bag was full of at least 4 days-worth of still-slightly-moist coffee grounds (which, had they been dry, wouldn't have been so much of a problem--but moist grounds are IMPOSSIBLE to sweep), old cooked spaghetti noodles, and some sort of mushy food-substance which I don't even remember ever having made (so perhaps noodles and coffee grounds made sweet sweet garbagey love during the week and this was their very disgusting offspring).
Even all that wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that I have about 7 pairs of shoes lined up down this very same hallway. And of course all of the most disgusting contents managed to spill directly INTO about 4 pairs of shoes. Think woody asparagus chunks in a nice pair of brown open-toed heels, noodles in a pair of boots, and the noodle-coffee love-child smudged all over a perfectly innocent pair of mary-janes.
Despite all of this, the *crowning* idjit moment of this incident came not with the wrecked shoes, but with a pickled-artichoke jar, half-full of pickled and moldy artichokes, which managed to pop open and spill its entire contents down the stairs and onto my entry-mat. One would *think* that moldy pickled artichokes would just smell like vinegar. But let me tell you: they smell distinctly like moldy pickled artichokes. And even a nice stick of Nag Champa can't strangle that smell.
So heed this warning, my lovely veg readers: If you're gonna skimp on something in the kitchen, let it be the foil, let it be the canola oil, let it be your KISS THE CHEF g-string, but never let it be the garbage bags.