Slime

It’s one of those things that you find out is in your lane after you sign up for the job. It’s like pick me, pick me! I want to be the HausFrau! Man says okeedokee and hires me for the job (after all, I'm worth every penny I don't make, who wouldn't hire me?). I happily eat bon-bons and watch Oprah care for the children and maintain our home. Then one day, MiniMe brings it to my attention. Not feelings spared, no beating around the bush, I am in charge of the slime.

It was innocent enough on her part. We were in the kitchen this morning making banana nut pancakes – you know I whipped out the whole wheat pancake mix & sprinkled in a generous amount of wheat germ and some Benefiber for good measure. It was just the two of us since no one else would drag their butts out of bed to tend to MiniMe’s early morning demands. I’m hungry. I want to watch Cartoon Network. Can I play Wii? I’m thirsty. I want water . . . with ice . . . and a lid. Not that cup! The other one.

Then the princess wants to know if I can flip pancakes up in the air and catch them with the pan. I painfully admitted the truth, that no, I can not and I’m not going to make a pancake flippin’ debut this morning. She insists that she’s seen pancakes being flipped in our house and since admittedly, it isn’t me, it must be Daddy.

Yes, that’s it! Man, the pancake flipper.

I don’t want to burst her bubble and have her think any less of Man’s Iron Chef status, so I don’t mention that he has not cooked anything pancakes since well before she was a twinkle in anybody’s eye.

Note to self: I must have the fantasy/reality talk with her again. Sweetheart, just because Daddy is a pancake flipping fool in your dreams doesn’t make it reality – or even remotely believable.

A n y w a y . . .

She was super eager to help out and suggested that it should be her job to pour the batter and flip the pancakes – since mom’s a complete moron when it comes to flipping & Man is still snoring sleeping upstairs.

Hmmm. Let’s recap: sticky batter, electric heat, MiniMe, and my relatively sparkling clean kitchen.

Uh, no, sweet pea, Mommy, hasn’t had enough wine yet but you can mix the batter up for us.

Eeeeewwww, it’s slimy.

Yes, that’s the egg & that’s what cooks do, we take the slime out of food.

That’s when it occurred to me. I’ve been the household POC for all things slime related for years. I just never thought about it – denial, who really wants to admit that this is what their life has been reduced to?

I’m the Culinary Godness personal chef & short-order cook around here. I’m the one who makes raw meats (fish, beef, poultry & pork) less slimy by charring them to oblivion grilling, baking, broiling, occasionally frying, roasting & sauteeing. I scramble, beat, whip, fry, boil & poach eggs to remove any evidence of raw slime. I rinse the slime off past-its-prime fruit & freeze the non-slimy parts – the secret ingredient in my kick-butt fruit smoothies (that and two shots a shot of vodka).

Come to think of it, the only food that is slimier after it’s cooked is boiled okra. And, I can honestly say with conviction that I never.

I am quick to wipe snotty slimy noses of my children (when they were younger!) with whatever available, including but not limited to ArmorAll Pop-Up Leather Cleaner Wipes from the trunk of my car.

I fearlessly reach ungloved hands into shower drains to clear out the slimy glob of hair gunk. Hey, in Man’s defense, he’s been known to do so on occasion too. I just can’t say as much about the snot noses and leather wipies.

And, for some reason everyone in this house looks to me when it comes to any kind of:

Vomit, loogies, poo, hairballs, rotten food, curdled milk.

We have a marital agreement that Man is in charge of any dead animals that invade our home (my hero), but then he looks to me to clean up any slimy goo that they might leave behind (my reality).

I’m not certain where I went wrong. Perhaps, I should have grown some balls stood up for my self when slime first entered the equation. Perhaps, I should have delegated loogie duty to the cat. Maybe more processed food and take out is the answer.

What's done is done. I can finish out this job proudly wearing the Slime Queen Tiara. But, no doubt, a painful lesson has been learned. I will be ballsy, upfront, demanding & certainly leave no room for ambiguity next time.

HausFrau seeks employment. Does the occasional windows and floors. Does not flip pancakes but does flip out. Does not do slime . . . or slimeballs.