The other day I tried to brown one of my mom’s homemade veggie burgers on my stove.
I almost burned my head off. Let me tell you, burning hair smells just TERRIBLE.
When I told my good friend Monica about the incident, the one and only question she asked me was, “And what were you doing near a stove?”
It is not a well-kept secret that I cannot cook. Frankly, both Pearl and I are much better at eating than we are at cooking. So I am not quite sure what attracted me to the stove that day.
But it is easier to figure out what attracted Pearl.
This past Sunday we were hanging out at the folks’ house, and my Mom has a goodly assortment of reflective surfaces, most of which are used for cooking things Pearl and I like to eat.
I turned my head for one moment, and when I turned back this is what I saw:
As I moved closer (to remove avian from hygienic cooking implement before the company saw) she smoothly segued into her signature move – the protective “this is mine” crouch:
When I didn’t stop my advance, she pulled out the big territory-staking guns and began to preen:
Oh, yeah, baby. It’s cool. That one’s yours.
