I Love My Wife (3)

The Juicy Bits

  

WARNING: This post contains items of a vaguely sexual nature, and may offend those of a highly sensitive and anti-heterosexual character.

Any men who have not yet figured out that the WOMEN have the upper hand or how life really works should not read any further.

If my daughter is reading this, DON'T.
Log off and go and make his tea; you really don't want to know what happens between your Mother and Me in the Hours of Darkness.

[continued from yesterday]

  

So, deciding to make amends for my transgressions, I set out in the morning to completely strip and clean my beloved's SMEG cooker.

 

I then:

1. removed the oven door and dismantled it into its component pieces
2. removed all of the grill trays, drip trays and baking trays and sheets
3. removed the top heating element
4. removed all of the control knobs
5. removed the cast steel trivets
6. removed the burners and dissembled for more detailed cleaning

Everything I could, I crammed into the now emptied dishwasher and ran it on the hottest, most energetic cycle. (Just because I was doing this as a type of penance, didn't mean I couldn't do it smart)

 Everything else was individually plunged into very hot water, and scrubbed with steel wool and cream cleanser and then thoroughly rinsed.

 

Then I started on the interior .

  

Everything was scrubbed, rinsed and dried

Baby Oil always gives the best finish.  Even on Stainless Steel

  

The exterior was scrubbed clean, and when dried was given a very light coating of Baby Oil. Sounds odd, but I've found it gives the best finish on Stainless Steel.

  

Finally everything was reassembled, checked for cleanliness and then tested for operational use

  

Five hours after I started, I had a next-to-new oven sitting gleaming in the sunlight

Then exhausted from my labours, I had a long hot shower to remove the grease, and collapsed onto the couch to vegetate in front of the TV.

That was when it happened. 

The shock.

The horror.

Good for me

I heard muttering from my beloved who was now cooking our evening meal on my newly cleaned cooker.  The phone went, and she answered it. (I was too tired to move.  Honestly.  The ice-cold glass of Guinness in my hand couldn't be moved in case the froth disappeared.  It was vital I stayed where I was) It was an old friend of my darling, and they soon got chatting.  I smelled the burning milk at the same time as my beloved.
Quickly draining my Guinness (priorities, always priorities) I shot through to the kitchen, grabbed the pot of milk which had just boiled all over the now non-pristine (actually black, sticky and steaming )cooker, and shoved it in the sink.

Not Good for the Cooker

I really love my wife.  But sometimes she makes it a wee bit hard.

And now we come to the Juicy Bit.

Having restored my natural superior balance in the Ledger of Life, (and waiting for the disastrous mess to cool down) I was watching TV again (with a fresh glass of Guinness in my hand) and became aware we were watching Master Chef New Zealand.
The instructing chef was showing the contestants how to cook and prepare some mussels (Excellent quality available in NZ).
He (Simon Gault) steamed them gently over some onions and white wine, and as they opened in the heat, he demonstrated how the gristly foot could be removed.

Not what I expected

The cooked mussel looked very tasty and I commented to my beloved "Hmmm, that looks very juicy"

At this point my beloved sniggled (a combination of giggle and snigger; a rare occurrence in itself) and she whispered, "It looks like a cl****is"
"What?" I couldn't make out what she was saying.
"It looks like a cl****is" she repeated.

For once I was thankful that my son (who has been at home, living with us now for 6 months) was engrossed in some god-awful exceptionally violent computer game in the corner, my expensive Stereo Headphones clamped to his skull, and couldn't hear a thing.

I wished I couldn't hear a thing.
I wished I hadn't heard what I thought I heard.
I wished I was in the computer game and being pulverised by a 30mm Rail Gun, rather than listening to my wife utter the word "cl****is"

Just in case you aren't sure what the word is, it's one of the "C" words that are not normally used in polite society.  And it doesn't rhyme with PUNT. It rhymes with that lovely little inoffensive animal, "Slender Loris".

What could I say?

"Really Dear?"  (I didn't add "are you sure?".  Some things are best left alone.)

I think she's right you know. 

Whatdo YOU think?

I'll never be able to look at a Bivalved Mollusc ever again.

Not unless the lights are off.

Maybe with some romantic music?



Next Instalment:  The Juicy Bits get a hammering.