Russell’s birthday is this weekend and I would like to honor him by telling you a story.
For the past two years we have gone camping with friends to celebrate Russell’s birthday. The outing has become an annual trip, affectionately known as Johnaroo, during which we all sit in the woods and drink beer. Russell very much looks forward to these trips and this year decided that it needed a theme. The choice? “Bacon Wrapped Sausages.” In preparation for this trip Russell purchased four different types of sausages and four pounds of bacon.
There would have been more sausage except for the fact that our power went out yesterday afternoon and didn’t come back on until 11:26 p.m. today, and we were worried that wouldn’t have any cool place to store more sausages. We weren’t even sure that the already purchased sausage would still be good.
Thursdays are my long days, and I was sad to arrive home tonight to see that the power still wasn’t on in the building. I made my way up the semi-dark stairs and opened the door to the apartment expecting to find Russell. There was a dim light on in the bathroom and I called for Russell. No answer. I walked to the kitchen and, much to my surprise, saw this:
And this:
And this:
Usually when I come home and find things amiss I can at least imagine what Russell was trying to do. Not this time though. I was concerned. Obviously Russell had been kidnapped or murdered and the state of our kitchen was some bizarre criminal mark. This was not good. Russell surely wouldn’t leave the kitchen in this state of filth if everything was okay. I decided to check the other rooms, unsure of what I would find.
I found Russell in the bedroom, asleep in his boxers. Concerned, I woke him up.
“Russell, is everything okay? What happened to the food?”
“It’s okay, you can have some.”
“No, it’s all over the kitchen floor. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, it’s okay.” Then he turned over and went back to sleep.
Still extremely puzzled, I went back to the kitchen and found this:
Apparently he had tried to make a frozen pizza in a frying pan.
Now knowing that everything was fine, I started to get a little upset. I had cleaned the apartment only the day before, even wiping the kitchen floor by hand, and now cracked eggs were oozing out all over. I knew then that I needed two things: 1) to clean it up; 2) to capture this mess on film. Going for the camera, I found it out on the table instead of in its usual spot. I turned it on to see if Russell had taken any pictures. Hah! Evidence that this event was planned:
Russell had taken the almost bad food out of the refrigerator and eaten a dozen eggs, one package of Bob Evans sausage patties, and two pounds of bacon. That’s right ONE DOZEN EGGS, ONE PACKAGE OF BOB EVANS SAUSAGE PATTIES, AND TWO POUNDS OF BACON. No wonder he was asleep, he was probably in a food coma.
I went to work cleaning up the kitchen and wandered into the living room to gather up a few things for Johnaroo. One look at the coffee table made the entire night’s events perfectly clear:
Apparently Russell likes a mix of Jim Beam and Jagermeister with his pounds of protein. At least he didn’t eat all of the food.
Also, his pants were laying in a neat little pile on the floor:
Oh Russell. Happy Birthday. This weekend we’ll celebrate.
Next week we’ll make you an appointment with a dietitian.
Correction: Russell did not cook or eat a dozen eggs.
