Dear
asshole John Brown:
I'm sure I forgot to tell you this,
asshole John Brown, but last night I had my first practical exam at culinary school. You probably heard me discussing it on the phone with The Young Man when I got home, actually. I was so nervous! Well, I didn't do all that bad -- I got an 84 on the basic cooking technique part and a 90 on the knife skills part. I made some stupid mistakes, like under seasoning my crudite and not cutting my red pepper dice small enough, but still, I'm pleased overall.
What made me especially happy,
asshole John Brown, was that when we got done with this harrowing four-hour exam, we got to taste some gravlax we'd made last weekend for our fish class (it has to cure for three days). It was delicious! I packed up a bunch and was happily plotting the fancy breakfast I was going to make myself the next morning.
See, I rarely eat dinner on Wednesdays. I leave too early for class and come home too late. And as I'm sure you must have noticed, the only thing I want to do when I get home from class is plop my weary body on the couch and watch
Gossip Girl, preferably with a glass of wine in my hand. So I wake up pretty hungry on Thursdays, is what I'm saying,
asshole John Brown.
Imagine my surprise when I awoke this morning, eager to make myself a breakfast fit for a lumberjack, with some of that oh-so-delicious gravlax featured prominently on my plate, only to find that you had not only managed to open the refrigerator door, but you had also climbed up to the very top shelf, stolen said gravlax, and had your own fancy breakfast. My surprise,
asshole John Brown. And my
horror.
I get it,
asshole John Brown. Now that you've settled into the new apartment, you're ready to start your old shenanigans. Like peeing on the futon. And breaking into the refrigerator. But this time you've gone too far. You ruined my breakfast, dude, and for that, you will pay. I'm not sure how yet, but you will.
And should you eat my gravlax next time I make it at home,
asshole John Brown, should you take
even one bite of it, plan on my eating what's left with a side of fried kitty fritters.
Love,
Mom
Labels: my cat is an asshole
