Day 10
Today should have been pretty boring.
The excitement of yesterday’s excursion has subsided and I returned to my quieter existence at home.
Three freerolls had the pleasure of my participation today although I didn’t last long enough in any of them to impart any words of wisdom to my fellow players, apart from a choice phrase or two when I was knocked out going all in pre flop with A-K suited against 7-9 off. That didn’t last long either as my chat was disabled for use of obscene language.
And so my day progressed unhindered before I was disturbed by a telephone call from Mrs. Snowman. She had been requested to work an extra couple of hours, would arrive home late and therefore asked me very sweetly if I would be good enough to make dinner.
No problem.
I don’t consider myself to be a bad cook; it’s just that things always seem to go wrong when I’m in the kitchen.
However, I felt I should make the effort. I persuaded myself that I’m a modern guy and quite capable of standing up to my duties as a husband and help out when called upon in an emergency, not only that but I could also score a few points after getting home drunk yesterday evening. After all, how difficult could it be to make a meal?
I seem to remember that she likes shepherds pie so I get to work.
After finding some mince meat, potatoes, vegetables and gravy granules I cleared a space on the work surface and started the preparation.
For the females reading this you should try to understand the transformation that takes place in a man’s head when he’s performing a specified task. When I drive the car I’m Nigel Mansell, when I play poker I’m Doyle Brunson. Stood in front of a pile of raw food I’m Gordon Ramsey. Come on guys, be honest, you know what I’m talking about.
Anyway, I put on an apron and slung a tea towel over my shoulder to make me feel like I knew what I was doing. I don’t have a chef’s hat but improvised by turning a baseball cap inside out and wearing that instead.
Everything went perfectly and before long ‘Shepherds Pie à la Snowman’ was ready for the oven. I cranked up the temperature, shoved it on the bottom shelf and triumphantly retired to the living room for a well-deserved cigarette and can of beer.
The wife will be delighted; I’m clearly not as useless as she thinks I am.
To my delight I even find an episode of Baywatch on the TV so put my feet up and spent an hour watching Pamela Anderson’s chest bounce up and down like two rabbits having a fight in a plastic bag.
Life is good.
Then the smoke alarm went off.
Rather than the pristine space I remembered, the kitchen now looks like something from a Stephen King novel.
A mist of dreadfully smelling black smoke hung in the air while something unidentified oozed out of the oven and slowly crept across the floor. I quickly turned it off, opened the door and stared for a few seconds in horror as my brain engaged and figured out what I did wrong.
An unused Pyrex oven dish sat by the sink provided the answer.
I’d used a plastic one.
The previously flawless Shepherds Pie was now a large blob dripping through the metal rungs of the oven shelf like a huge lump of snot.
Panic set in and I frantically tried to clean up the mess. I’ve got a smoke alarm screaming above my heat, a congealing lump of goo at my feet and to make matters worse the cat sneaked past me and started to eat a lump of meat-infused plastic. It wasn’t long before a huge amount of cat sick added to my problems. It wasn’t a good afternoon.
Unbelievably, I managed to revert the kitchen back to its normal state after an hour or so of hard graft, and used every single can of air freshener, bottle of aftershave and scented candle I could find to get rid of the stench. With minutes to spare, I finished up and by the time the wife got home I was stretched out on the sofa with my heart beating like a greyhound.
Pizza was ordered and Mrs. Snowman none the wiser.
I managed to get though this one by the skin of my arse cheeks, unless of course she reads this in which case by tomorrow I’ll be wearing my testicles as earrings.
The only other point of interest was my 38th place in the evening freeroll that earned me $0.35 but to be honest I’m still to shocked to write more about it.
Be assured, this time I won’t be so cavalier with the winnings.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.35
The excitement of yesterday’s excursion has subsided and I returned to my quieter existence at home.
Three freerolls had the pleasure of my participation today although I didn’t last long enough in any of them to impart any words of wisdom to my fellow players, apart from a choice phrase or two when I was knocked out going all in pre flop with A-K suited against 7-9 off. That didn’t last long either as my chat was disabled for use of obscene language.
And so my day progressed unhindered before I was disturbed by a telephone call from Mrs. Snowman. She had been requested to work an extra couple of hours, would arrive home late and therefore asked me very sweetly if I would be good enough to make dinner.
No problem.
I don’t consider myself to be a bad cook; it’s just that things always seem to go wrong when I’m in the kitchen.
However, I felt I should make the effort. I persuaded myself that I’m a modern guy and quite capable of standing up to my duties as a husband and help out when called upon in an emergency, not only that but I could also score a few points after getting home drunk yesterday evening. After all, how difficult could it be to make a meal?
I seem to remember that she likes shepherds pie so I get to work.
After finding some mince meat, potatoes, vegetables and gravy granules I cleared a space on the work surface and started the preparation.
For the females reading this you should try to understand the transformation that takes place in a man’s head when he’s performing a specified task. When I drive the car I’m Nigel Mansell, when I play poker I’m Doyle Brunson. Stood in front of a pile of raw food I’m Gordon Ramsey. Come on guys, be honest, you know what I’m talking about.
Anyway, I put on an apron and slung a tea towel over my shoulder to make me feel like I knew what I was doing. I don’t have a chef’s hat but improvised by turning a baseball cap inside out and wearing that instead.
Everything went perfectly and before long ‘Shepherds Pie à la Snowman’ was ready for the oven. I cranked up the temperature, shoved it on the bottom shelf and triumphantly retired to the living room for a well-deserved cigarette and can of beer.
The wife will be delighted; I’m clearly not as useless as she thinks I am.
To my delight I even find an episode of Baywatch on the TV so put my feet up and spent an hour watching Pamela Anderson’s chest bounce up and down like two rabbits having a fight in a plastic bag.
Life is good.
Then the smoke alarm went off.
Rather than the pristine space I remembered, the kitchen now looks like something from a Stephen King novel.
A mist of dreadfully smelling black smoke hung in the air while something unidentified oozed out of the oven and slowly crept across the floor. I quickly turned it off, opened the door and stared for a few seconds in horror as my brain engaged and figured out what I did wrong.
An unused Pyrex oven dish sat by the sink provided the answer.
I’d used a plastic one.
The previously flawless Shepherds Pie was now a large blob dripping through the metal rungs of the oven shelf like a huge lump of snot.
Panic set in and I frantically tried to clean up the mess. I’ve got a smoke alarm screaming above my heat, a congealing lump of goo at my feet and to make matters worse the cat sneaked past me and started to eat a lump of meat-infused plastic. It wasn’t long before a huge amount of cat sick added to my problems. It wasn’t a good afternoon.
Unbelievably, I managed to revert the kitchen back to its normal state after an hour or so of hard graft, and used every single can of air freshener, bottle of aftershave and scented candle I could find to get rid of the stench. With minutes to spare, I finished up and by the time the wife got home I was stretched out on the sofa with my heart beating like a greyhound.
Pizza was ordered and Mrs. Snowman none the wiser.
I managed to get though this one by the skin of my arse cheeks, unless of course she reads this in which case by tomorrow I’ll be wearing my testicles as earrings.
The only other point of interest was my 38th place in the evening freeroll that earned me $0.35 but to be honest I’m still to shocked to write more about it.
Be assured, this time I won’t be so cavalier with the winnings.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.35