Eau De Parfum

I had great plans for this evening.

I am going to my friends birthday party tomorrow night, so I have a friend in Pittsburg who is graciously going to watch my cat, Rico while I am gone for the day. Rico's babysitter was supposed to come over tonight so that they could get acquainted with one another. However, around 7 this evening I decided to make Tuna Helper for dinner.

It turns out that 1¾ cup of milk and 1½ cup of water do not fit in the skillet that I own. Matters are only made worse when trying to add the noodles, sauce packet and butter. Then thanks to my typical lack of attention, I only noticed the little picture on the directions that showed two cans of tuna. As I was walking to the trash can wondering why it seemed like the already overfilled skillet seemed to be overtaken with copious amounts of canned albacore, I noticed the minuscule letters that read “7oz” on the lids of each can. So I sauntered back to the counter, stirred my concoction while belatedly re reading the directions on the back of the box. Next to the crafty picture of two tuna cans were the even more minute letters that read “5oz cans”. Whoops.

As I am reading there is a loud pop and sizzle. So I glance over and the milk mixture is overflowing into the stove top! I quickly lifted the steaming skillet off the heat, and dumbly decided that while it was in my hand, I might as well try to drain some of the liquid mixture out. Wrong.

In the time it took me to shuffle less than one step towards the sink, my counter was covered with tuna galore. Flashing back to 7am when I used the last paper towel, I dwelled in the irony of my laziness for a moment as I grabbed my coveted Christmas towel and soaked up the soup a la fish. Wonderful.

I sat the skillet back on the stove, stirred my noodles occasionally and stared at the once charming Christmas tree covered towel that in its glory days, graced the handle of my stove, while it now sat soaked in stench of tuna. The concoction cooled, I grabbed a plate, and I mustered down what I could.

Still hungry, but to afraid to even attempt another dish to accompany my 14ounces of lukewarm fish from a can, I opted for the snack size Orville Redenbocher bag of popcorn. Not being one to disappoint, I messed that up too.
I learned last year that if you stand directly in front of the microwave too long, it can get to ya. I'm using that as my excuse for managing to mess up Tuna Helper. So I decided that rather than risk my brain cells to the micro waves once more, I would multi task and run to the bathroom while my corn kernels popped. I did not factor in the two bottles of water and glass of apple juice. As I set a new world record, I heard the pops slowing from 1 second, to 2 seconds, to the dreaded black kernel guarantee 3 second mark.

Sure enough, I dash into the kitchen and swing open the microwave door just in time to see the bottom of the bag turning a crispy tan.

Rico's babysitter is now going to come over tomorrow. He thinks it is because I am studying for finals at a friends. In reality, I am simply sitting at home; hoping in the course of the next day that the smell of blackened Orville and the deep stench of tuna soup have started to fade from the floorboards. By then I should have thought up a good excuse for my domestic delinquency. Otherwise, I will chalk this one up to karma. Suddenly I feel bad for complaining about that interesting scent that seems to follow Asian tenants even after they have moved. It is not so funny when that smell is following you. Sorry future resident of S. Elm Apartment C. That smell is indeed tuna, and it is indeed staying.