Hello internet! Well at least hello to all two of Emily's readers! Except...I know I'm a reader...so I guess that means I'll only be guest posting to one other reader...Nice to "meet" you reader, I'm Tricia!
Now if you really are an avid reader of Emily's blog you'll note two things:
1. This post is not following any of the guidelines she gave me :)
2. I entitled this post with a question just as she does! Be proud!
Now onto the story...because I know what you're thinking. Why would anyone want to fry running shoes?
This weekend I was out of town to go wedding dress shopping with my seester so the hubs took full advantage of my absence by cooking/frying/eating all things aquatic. You see I'm not a fan of eating aquatics...I detest the taste of fishiness! Upon my return I walked into what smelled like Captain D's...but was sadly enough my kitchen. My husband has this terrible habit of cooking overly aromatic foods without airing out the house. #fail. So of course the first thing I do is pull out the Winter Frost Febreeze & attempt to neutralize the smells permeating my kitchen--that was Sunday...today, Tuesday, it was JUST getting back to a normal aroma...that is until this morning, when my husband decided to fry my brand new running shoes.
My husband is quite the fan of Alton Brown...making homemade bread, crackers, and doughnuts. I must admit that this affair with Alton has been quite tasty...until today. Today the hubs was home sick today with this recurring headache. And while it kept him from being able to crunch numbers all day it did not keep him from some serious house cleaning/rearranging mojo. This morning one of these ventures included straining oil to store & reuse. So he looked it up, watched his man-crush Alton on the internets via youtube, got dark colored bottles ready, and got to work. Now his only problem was that all his straining materials were on the table & the fryer was on the counter...across the kitchen. Of course he's going to move the fryer TO the supply table. Now I have a VERY intelligent husband, and I love him dearly, but sometimes...sometimes he just doesn't employ that intelligence. He picked up the fryer; one hand on the side...the other hand holding the opened lid.
I know, internet, I know...you're saying, out loud, to that empty room you're sitting in while reading this riveting post, "Why didn't he CLOSE the fryer before transporting it across the kitchen?!?" ::sigh:: Well, internet, I fear that would have made too much sense for my dear husband...I will gladly blame it on his headache & give him the credit that if he weren't suffering from such intense pain he would have thought of that prior to the catastrophe I'm about to recreate for you, here, on the internet.
While Adam is in the kitchen embarking on his oil recycling project I'm in the living room trying to straighten up. We're occasionally talking back & forth through the partition separating the two rooms. It was a nice light conversation, nothing too deep, nothing that would lead to an argument. When all of a sudden out of nowhere the hubs yelled out (I'll be changing the actual words yelled since I have a sneaking suspicion that his parents are the other regular reader of this blog) so yes, he yelled out, "Oh my stars, daisies are blooming!"
Immediately I knew something was wrong & I dropped what I was doing & ran into the kitchen--then slid. Yeah, you heard me slid. Why did I slide? Oh, I don't know...it might just have something to do with the 1.5 quarts of oil oozing across our kitchen floor. Once I caught my balance I was able to take in the entire room, and my heart broke; there stood the hubs with THE most pitiful, heartbreaking look of grief on his face as he said, "I'm so sorry, SO so sorry!"
I'm all, "Dude, it's not your fault...it's ok."
To which he replied, "I can't believe I just spilled oil all over your brand new running shoes!"
I'm sorry, come again? Did he just say he spilled the oil on my shoes!?! My NEW running shoes? The ones that stilled SMELLED NEW? The ones we saved up for so I could have the good ones? ::breathe, breathe:: He didn't do this on purpose...your the one that left your shoes in the kitchen, ::breathe::
"They're just shoes, Adam...::gulp:: they can be washed. It's not like you did it on purpose, right?"
That's when I saw a crack of a smile on that poor mans face. We began to try and mop up the ever growing puddle of oil from the floor, my BRAND NEW RUNNING SHOES, and the hubs pants.
The shoes are now on their fourth, yes fourth, spin through the wash & are smelling a little less of fried crawfish & a little more like freshness. ::sigh::
And that, dear internet, that is how one fries running shoes. If you need any tips or would like the recipe just let me know!