Well it wasn’t Colonel Mustard. And it wasn’t the library. But it was a mop! And in the arms of a 16-year old in the bathroom, as definite back and forth motions were observed.
Fantastik appeared out of nowhere. Fantastic! A spritz, a shot, then another and another and next, bold sweeps with powerful resolve and a steely eye… it was… a clean john!
This was the scene, last evening, in a leafy burb somewhere on the East Coast of the United States. Unusual. Might Pod People be involved?
Arrival may be imminent, but we have no data
Everyone should have an unknown foreign student arriving, with no data on flight schedules, no logistics specified for rides and pickups, and barely days to prepare.
Why? Because of the impact on a teenage boy (with a glaring mother), of course.
A startling thing. Monumental even!
Quietly, stealthily, the weary woman assumed to be the Parental Unit follows behind, pointing and murmuring as the teenager grunts and then, ultimately, executes. Floors are rediscovered. Nine bags of trash are dragged out to the curb for the morning pickup. And then it’s visible… Dijon Mustard on the Counter in the Kitchen…
Conspiracy theory (domestic goddess?)
Could it be that this is all a cleaning conspiracy? Masterminded by some nosy neighbor or parental poser who actually peered and peeked inside my hovel of a home? Could walkie-talkie communiqués have been furtively exchanged with the head of the high school’s international program, on the assumption that my son and I could be shamed into clearing the kitchen table, re-establishing order in the storage guestroom, unearthing the very floor in the kitchen where pantry items have been stacked for three months?
What if there isn’t a Latvian arriving at some point today?
Diabolical indeed. Maybe that explains the aggravating absence of data.
And yet, Kristen at Motherese has offered herself up as cultural attaché should we require her services, and The Kitch Witch sent me a list of Latvian food staples, including suggestions for root vegetables. But my son shook his head in disapproval, and said: “He’s coming to America. He’ll eat what we eat.”
Recipes for success (and feeding teens)
Our standard culinary offering? You mean on the nights I don’t just point to the microwavable dinners in the freezer? Oh, yes. The real food I cook from time to time. Hmmm. Here are the usual suspects to fill those hollow legs and expandable 17-year old stomachs:
- Chicken à la Popeye
- Cheatin’ Chicken Cacciatore
- Mustard, without the Colonel, on Steak au Poivre
- A little Seared Salmon and Spinach
- Best omelette on the planet (compliments of my son)
Maybe we can order Dominos with beets and potatoes?
And then, one can only hope that tonight – there’s a Latvian with a Smile in the (Guest) Closet.
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