07.18.2002 - 7:08 p.m.

�You know what I want to do this time? Put the rest of the vegetables in before the green peppers.� I say.

�Oh, so they don�t get all squishy?� Kelly pulls the defrosting pork out of the microwave. She�s the one who likes it so much, so she�s the one who gets to make her fingers all slimy and cold while preparing it. I�m almost done with my job, cutting up the vegetables.

�Yeah. I mean, I don�t even like green peppers. I only like them for the way they make everything else taste�

Well, we could make them a little crunchy this time. Although, I kind of like them squishy.�

�Squishy peppers remind me of dead worms.�

�Oh.� She is quiet for a second or two, then reaches over to grab a pepper slice from my vegetable pile. She holds it upright, using a finger to bend the top back and forth at me, like some bizarre nodding head. �Oh no, it�s the pepper worm from outer space! It seems harmless now, in its hibernating state, but stovetop temperatures entice it out of its stasis! They reproduce faster than rabbits! They�ll slide down your gullet and devour you from the inside out! Run while you still can! Leave more stirfry for me!�

Later, when I stop laughing, I think, Ok, that made no sense.

**********

My roommate is still cutting the meat into little strips. I stand next to her, grinding stray ants under my hitchhiker�s thumb. (The ants found our kitchen, did I tell you that?) I am singing the Pink Panther song under my breath. Or it starts under my breath.

�Oh,� my roommate says. �I thought you were just saying �dead ant, dead ant� over and over again.�

�Um, yeah. Actually I was.� I admit. �It goes good with that tune.�

�Oh. Yeah, I guess it does.�

I look over at her cutting board. She is taking forever. �That would probably work better if you got a sharper knife.�

�Maybe, but that would be too easy. And then we�d have to wash two.�

�Good point.�

********

Kelly is stirfrying; I am sitting on the couch watching the Simpsons.

�I can�t get the marmalade open. Will you?� Kelly brings out the jar. (We have no men during the week, you know, so we have to share this part of making dinner)

It won�t open. I try right-handed, left-handed; I try bracing myself against the arm of the couch, even the using the edge of my shirt.

�Wow. Your face got all cartoony on that one,� Kelly laughs.

�Gee, thanks.� On TV, bluefaced tooth people bow to Lisa, who�s just been debigulated. I am careful not to grimace as I give it one last try. I do not look like a cartoon.

The extra foot-pound per square inch of indignation makes the top of the jar finally shift.

I suppose I should thank her for that, but if she calls me a cartoon again, I might have to drop an anvil on her head or something.

*******

Since Jimmy has been having housing issues too lately, it�s starting to seem like Kelly and I might not be roommates anymore once our lease is up. This would make me really, really sad.

-stonebridge

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