Ruined Breakfast, the Gift That Keeps on Giving

So the human female did end up taking a cart of yogurt with her and eating it when she got where she was going. She soon discovered, however, that–just like the strawberries– the yogurt had frozen solid in the back of the fridge. It had thawed by the time she got to it, and she learned a fun fact: Did you know that when you freeze and thaw Greek yogurt, the result is a thin, watery liquid with tiny, fine curds of yogurt that feel in the mouth a lot like ricotta cheese? She did the best she could, eating her Curds and Whey like some woebegone Miss Muffet. She put the empty carton in a plastic bag, tossed the bag back into her backpack to deal with later, and went about her day.

It is now “later.”

I have written before about the disaster that is the human female’s backpack. The outside is held together with mending and good wishes, and the inside is an unparalleled Chaos Dimension. What you may not know is that in her infantile stupidity, she always totes around a little tin of tiny, knobby plastic building blocks. They go with her everywhere. I have no idea what she sees in them. They are pointless and boring. In any case, to make sure that the tin stays unscratched and that any loose pieces stay corralled, she keeps the tin and some other odds and ends in a little white cloth sack.

Today, I saw to it that the Little Cloth Sack met the Somehow Open Plastic Bag with the “empty” yogurt carton from yesterday’s disastrous breakfast.

Wet is bad. Sticky is bad. Wet and sticky and slightly cheesy is even worse. And because the particular carton of yogurt was one of those that has…

a sidecar of goopy, fruity stuff (which she didn’t finish and didn’t dispose of), the mess is even worse.

Ehehehehe! Have you learned anything from this? Like–I don’t know–maybe making sure your yogurt doesn’t freeze, washing out your used yogurt cartons before dumping them in a bag that’s not really sealed, or–and I’m going out on a limb here–maybe not carrying around little plastic toys all the time?

Sigh. I suspect she won’t absorb the lesson from this situation. She’ll get a reminder tomorrow, though, when she discovers that her sunglasses case has been similarly thoroughly gooped.

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I Repeat: There’s Always Toast

Or there would be, if I hadn’t wiped my hands all over the bread so that it broke out in furry green spots…

Today the human female is going for the leftovers of the oatmeal she made yesterday. The crockpot recipe makes two servings, and since the human male eats it only under duress, the superfluity was neatly packaged up in a little glass container and stored in the cold cabinet.

And here it is. Doesn’t it look vile? I didn’t do that; it looks this way all on its own.

(Sniff, sniff…)

By Idunn’s little apples, I think my mischief worked! That just does not smell right! Sigyn, come smell this and see what you think.

(Sniff, sniff) See what I mean? It’s off, isn’t it? Smells like… dill and garlic, am I right?

Ehehehehehee! She may never figure out how her oatmeal came to be haunted by the Ghost of Tzatziki Past, but I reckon she’ll have an inkling who.

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There’s Always Toast…

Sometimes it’s good to go back to basics. Remember the time I ruined the human female’s breakfast for multiple days running? Good times! I thought I’d see if I still have anti-breakfast-mischief mojo.

She set the slow-cooker to make oatmeal overnight last night. As soon as she went to bed, though, I turned the knob from “Low” to “High”, which should have resulted in the formation of a crock-pot shaped cinder block. Unbeknownst to me, though, the thing turned itself off for some reason and she woke up this morning to a pot of water and uncooked steel-cut oats. Nummers. When she tested the pot, it heated up just fine on low, so now we’re both confused.

And still breakfastless. Human female, today, I think, would be a good day for eggs. Let’s have a look at some from the latest carton I handed to the the human male at the market.

(Humming) “None of these things is quite like the others.” That photo doesn’t do justice to how long and skinny the one on the left is–or how it also has a sort of weird constriction about its middle– or how much the size varies, or the range of colors in this carton.

Soo many questions! Is that long, lumpy egg safe to eat? Did it even come from a chicken?? What does a snake egg look like???

And if you’ve lost your appetite for eggs and are going for the cold cereal instead, has Loki done anything to the milk????

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I’d Like to Propose a Toast

Remember that the humans had to buy a new toaster because the last one ended up full of glass?

Well, the human male apparently hasn’t read the instructions.  You see, he woke up this morning wanting a toasted English muffin, so he dropped one in the toaster.  When it was toasted just right, he wanted to interrupt the process.

He should have pushed this little button:


It has the humans’ international symbol for “No.”  You’d think that’d be obvious.

Instead, at my prompting, the human male just flipped up the lever.


This had the immediate effect of launching the small round breakfast high in the air.  It landed with a plop and skidded under the refrigerator, whence the human male retrieved it.


Mmm, breakfast.

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A Defective Breakfast

The human female, to put it delicately, is not at her best immediately upon rising. She is also rather lazy. Because of these two character flaws, she will from time to time employ a bread-making machine, setting it to deliver a hot, fragrant loaf at approximately getting-up time. A culinary incentive to wakefulness, if you will.

She has done thus this morning. I cannot say I am impressed with the results.


The loaf has an acceptable texture and aroma, but it is defective. One should not be able to peer through a slice of toast! And not one but TWO butter-leakers! This breakfast is unworthy of my dearest Sigyn. My love, would you not rather have an omelet?

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Yet another Midgardian inn

I forgot to mention that the humans traveled for this past holiday, staying in yet another Midgardian inn. I am beginning to believe that they were all constructed by one person, for they are all mostly the same, same, same. *Yawn.*

I will admit, however, that this one had a unique method of presenting the bath linens. We had a good game of hide-and-seek.


Sigyn won. (Horns are hard to hide.)

This inn was another with a sink cake.


Sigyn, I know you were excited, but remember what I’ve told you about them. They’re not edible, no matter how good they smell.

So we checked out the inn’s actually-food offerings. Mostly the same as previous inn fare, though it did have these small round breakfasts The human female says they’re for eating with butter and honey, but Sigyn found them fluffy enough to recline on. I think perhaps this is what the Midgardians refer to as a "Bed and Breakfast."


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After the feast

We did have a large Thanksgiving feast with family. We all had to say what we were thankful for. I was thankful that we were not having dinner with my family.

Afterwards, Sigyn and I took a stroll in the garden to help walk off the meal. Sigyn, no flower is as fair as you.


The next day, we found we were still mostly full from the previous day’ feast. For breakfast, the human female herself could manage only a bit of toast with (red) jam, some (red) juice, and some (reddish) fruit-clabbered milk. (Bleargh.)


Her tendency to color-coordinate her meals baffles me.

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In which we go to a wedding reception.

I’m not sure this is an auspicious beginning to the day.

Another typical inn breakfast. It appears that everything on offer today is…yellow. And is that supposed to be an egg? What do you have to do to an egg to make it look like that?


The wedding is being held at a small church. Not this one, the one next to it. This one has a fence and notices all around it. The wall was just falling away from the rest of the building, and they’ve had to prop it up.


And before you ask, No, I did not do it. It was like that when we got here.

Well, that was not fair. I was not allowed to go to the actual ceremony. (The human female says I can’t be trusted in a house of worship. I don’t know why… I am a GOD, after all!) But Sigyn and I have been invited to the reception, which is being held in the parish hall. I’m given to understand that is a casual “country” reception–pit-roasted sausages in a spicy sauce, twangy local music, the bride and groom wearing pointy-toed boots. Interesting. The table decorations are small trees…


… which Sigyn has of course climbed. She will no doubt smell like rosemary for a week. (Which is not a bad thing.)

Rather than the traditional cake, the bride and groom have elected to serve multiple kinds of pie. I approve! Sigyn has chosen apple, while I am intrigued by this confection which includes nuts, butter, eggs, whiskey, and an alarming but delectable amount of sugar.


Oh, by Sleipnir’s monstrous farrier bill! The human female has scarfed down half our pies and now she is dancing. Eye bleach! I believe I need some eye bleach.

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A Holiday! Day 2: Making new friends

We slept very well and arose early to be up and doing. We enjoyed this large round breakfast. It tasted wonderfully of some sweet spice but was very sticky.


It looks like rain, so we are doing indoor things today.

We have heard that this place is the home of some indigenous deities. I have thought it prudent to seek them out and introduce myself, one god to another, as it were.


Oh, no! That blue fellow looks to be about to stomp on my beloved! Oh, wait. He is merely dancing. Lucky for him– as conquering *this* particular bit of Midgard is not on my agenda–yet. I would prefer to count them as potential allies, rather than have to smite them and force them to kneel.

They are proving to be most hospitable. This little one is offering refreshments. Perhaps later? I am still full from breakfast.


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I have heard the humans speak of this oblong breakfast as a kola… Kola… Kolachamathingy. I think they usually contain oozy fruit, though this one seems to be full of cheese and… something else. ??? Some unfortunate animal, evidently.


Kolache, kolace, kolacky*….Whatever. I’m not sure I want to eat a food I cannot spell.

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* Not to be confused with kolaczki, which are something else entirely. Stupid Midgardian food.