I’ll take “Idioms” for $2000, Alex.

“Answer:  An example of the straw that broke the horse’s back”

Bzzz.

“What is…the dog peeing on the bed as we were literally climbing in at 1:00am last night after a performance of Mr. Apron’s show for which ¾ of my family was in attendance?”

After a day in which my family arrived, and by ‘arrived,’ I mean ‘descended upon like a plague of entropy,’ and I realized any illusion of control I wield over my own life would soon end.  After a 2-hour search for a double-boiler at 6 stores, which finally did yield the correct pot, but which enabled a colossal failure in my quest to make custard to use up the 10 egg yolks  I had left over from making my sister-in-law’s angel food birthday cake.

I think that counts as the last straw.  I think my tantrum on the rug screaming, “I just can’t cope!” was completely justified.  We were out of blankets as my sister was dozing under one comforter, my parents under another, and I had just pulled out our delicious down quilt.  We had somehow fitted it into its duvet despite the dog’s leaping and bounding all over it, and she let out her piece de resistance – a splatter of pee as we were about to crawl under the covers.  “She’s peeing, she’s peeing!” I screamed as I saw her mount her typical pose, but it was too late.

And my well intentioned custard?  It turned into hot, sour smelling milk with chunks of egg encrusted on the bottom of the pan.  Stupid “Joy of Cooking:” “Scald milk” (huh?) “Slowly add egg yolks, sugar, and salt.  Heat over a double boiler, stirring constantly until thickened.”  I looked up “scald”.  I stirred constantly, and all I got was nasty smelling milk with bits of egg mung.  So now I’ve used up 4 of those yolks and wasted 2 cups of milk, with nothing to show for it but a disposal with bad breath. 

I told my father, as he prepared to walk the puppy this afternoon to allay my responsibilities as I wrestled with a migraine, that if he happened to lose her, not to give chase.  She did wriggle out of her harness and escape, but he went after her, eventually hauling her sorry blonde ass home for us to deal with.

Despite the excitement over the play, it was simply a crap weekend.  One for the books, and one to sort through on the couch. 

“That’s correct!  You have control of the board.”

Now that my family is gone, the duvet is drying on the line, and the play is mercifully over, I may just have regained control.  If only the dog could do the same with her bladder.

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