I’m desperately hoping that this renovation doesn’t morph into another Project Bob disastrophe. Remind me to tell you that little horror story sometime. For now, here’s another Classic Caterpickle to tide you over.
Once upon a time we had a lovely green canister that we used to keep sugar on the counter for coffee, tea, and the odd spot of baking. Daddyo and I both adored it. Note the little wooden spoon that lives permanently in a holder on the side. So convenient (as long as everyone obeys the do-not-stir-the-coffee-with-the-sugar-spoon rule).
But over the course of many years of faithful service, the canister’s hermetic seal began to go. I ignored it for as long as I could, but once the canister began leaking sugar every time we moved it, it was time to say goodbye.
So I brought home this beauty. Gorgeous, right?
Guess what she’s missing.
Yep. No integrated wooden spoon. It took about three seconds of use before Daddyo and I figured out that integrated wooden spoon was one of our favorite features.
The bleary-eyed, pre-coffee solution? Pluck the spoon from the old green canister and plunk it right into the sugar. Handle up, of course, because you know, that’s how you hold a spoon.
All was golden until one snowy morning when Daddyo came traipsing downstairs and discovered this:
Daddyo, exasperatedly: “Shala, can we at least agree to only ever put the spoon in the sugar handle side up?”
Mommyo, defensively: “But when the sugar canister is full, it takes too long to wiggle the spoon in that way. This way you can just shove it down. Much faster.”
Daddyo, didactically: “But you know what you’re doing, right? You’re shoving down all the germs from your hand into the middle of the sugar.”
Mommyo, queasily: “Oh. But if we survived the Bubonic Snowflake, surely we can survive the hand plague.”
Daddyo, definitively: “There is no reason to taunt the hand plague. The immune system helps those who help themselves.”
So now we keep the spoon here.
- In which Daddyo reflects on the universal appeal of Dinosaur Train (Caterpickles)
- “Daddyo, what did our ancestors grow out of?” (Caterpickles)