One of those Texas Indian Summer days so blindingly bright and clear that surely nothing sinister could be lurking about...
L and I had just returned from an afternoon of errands. I released the Buglet from her car seat straight jacket and set her down to play while I put the groceries away. I could hear The Boom whining to be let out of her crate, but my goat cheese was in dire straights due to the yep-it's-still-in-the-90s situation outside, so she'd just have to call on her doggie patience.
As I walked towards to the pantry, something in the microwave caught my eye...
What's this? A bag of popcorn?
Whatthefuck. E didn't like my dinner last night so he made a secret bag of popcorn after I went to bed? BLASPHEMY.
No, no, no. I used the microwave for lunch today. My culinary honor has not been challenged, phewww--
Wait a tick.
If E didn't make popcorn last night... And I didn't make popcorn today at lunch... Then why is there popcorn in my microwave?
THERE IS A SERIAL KILLER WITH A SNACKING PROBLEM IN MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW, WAITING TO KILL US WITH HIS CANCER-CAUSING FAUX-BUTTERY HANDS.
That is the only plausible explanation, ERH MAH GAWD, ERH MAH GAWD, grab the baby, grab the keys, grab the phone, BREATHE...
Do I have time to get the dog? No, WHAT IF HE'S IN THE OFFICE, WAITING FOR ME TO COME OPEN THE CRATE?
Okay, so no Boom. Let's get out of here. Jesus, I'm like the worst dog mom ever... donotcry, donotcry, donotcr---
Clean pump parts.
NEVER MIND, THEN.