The other day I was hurrying out the door to the gym. I noticed that the yellow roses in my elegantly tarnished silver pitcher (purchased at Goodwill for $3.25) needed to have the water changed. No ordinary dime store vase for me, oh no, all my containers have to be chic, thrifted, special, vintage, or antique. Thinking that this little chore would just take a moment, I put fresh water in an ironstone pitcher and filled the silver one. And filled. And filled. My, I thought, that water must have really gotten low.
Then I noticed that the water I was pouring in was pouring back out down the spout of the silver pitcher all over the dining room table, on the green silk runner, all over the napkins, and the green placemats. Finally, it was developing into a puddle on the floor. It was a Martha Stewart moment for sure.
The next morning, I took a whole chicken from the freezer and left it in the sink to thaw. About four, I decided to stuff the chicken full of fresh herbs and lemon slices and roast it. Then I realized that I had frozen the bird with the giblets inside. The chicken was frozen solid down the middle. I had no other ideas for dinner. I started running water into the cavity. It didn't budge.
Then I had a brilliant idea. Needle-nosed pliers, that's it! I got some and started pulling and pulling. I was GOING to get that frozen giblet packet out. I braced myself, concentrated, and gave a mighty pull. The pliers slipped off and the momentum caused me to smack myself right in the face.
And that, my friends, is why I'm not Martha.