The Bean Situation

I decided I'd put some soup beans on to soak before going to bed the other night. I got the big, metal mixing bowl from under the counter and sat it on the one dead stove eye. The beans went in, then the bowl was filled with water. Soon after I plodded off to bed.

I got up some time during the night to visit the potty palace, as you do when you're, ya know, of an age.

On the way back, I checked on the beans. When you have two precious kitties and one a-hole cat, you have to check all the things, all the time. It's a good thing I did, because the water was gone. I thought I'd put more than enough in the bowl and I was slightly suspicious that someone may have mistaken it for a kitty open bar, but it was late and I'd used up all my brain logic for the day so I just filled it back up with water and went back to bed.

The next morning, after staggering in to the kitchen and putting the coffee on, I reached for the bowl of beans. They were dry as a bone and looked like they hadn't soaked at all. I lifted the bowl.

Drip.

Drip.

There was a pin hole in the metal bowl. HOW DOES THAT EVEN HAPPEN????

All of that water had drained down through the eye of the stove and created a water-grease... situation. It was one of those mornings where you just have to pour your coffee, sit on the couch and gaze into the kitchen, trying to figure out how the hell you're going to fix this shit without electrocuting yourself.

I had to sacrifice the last good towel, but I managed. I'm no worse off, the only stove eye that would have been seriously effected was the one that hasn't worked in 5 years anyway.

I never did cook those beans. There may be a large metal mixing bowl, tossed up on the bank, resting among the trees in it's final resting place, surrounded by English Ivy.

Ya'll have a good one!

Later Taters.