My beloved-father, whom I shall ironically dub DaddyDearest, works for a nonprofit facility for the developmentally disabled – he is, however, working at a prison. It’s my father’s job to make sure that those 400-odd fine guests of the State still get fed every day. While the prisoners aren’t particularly going anywhere, there are still a lot of moving parts to making sure they all get fed. F’example, last year during the Great Blizzard of ’11, my father was the only one on staff in the kitchen for two days. The food still got out, albeit late, but he made sure everybody in the prison as an inmate or a guard got fed. He’s like that.
So, the first year the prison contract was up for renewal, my father’s boss(the director of finance for the nonprofit) and her boss, the director of the nopro, went to the Capitol to discuss the contract with the Department of Corrections.
When all was said and done, they had one complaint:
The peas in the beef stew were insufficiently green.
Le Director choked out something, and they left. It is given to my understanding that on the drive home she kept screaming, out of now, where, “Peas! They’re complaining about the god-damned peas!” She eventually calmed down, but only after it was repeatedly pointed out to her that if the only complaint the DoC had about Nonprofit’s performance was the color of the peas, things were going pretty well…
Fast-forward about 10 years.
Last night, as we were getting ready for bed, we discovered that one of the cats had pissed on our bed. Thankfully, we have a stain/liquid-resistant cover on the mattress, for exactly these cases, but there’s still the sheets, blankets, and so on. Mulder was grumbly about the cat using our bed as a litter box, and generally grousing.
I fetched a new set of sheets out of the linen closet, and started remaking the bed. Mulder suddenly stopped, and said “Where’s the pillowcase?” I looked around the room, counted thrice just to make sure, and, yes, indeed, we were short one matched pillowcase with the sheet set.
This. Will. Not. Do.
Mulder isn’t, usually, too OCD-like, but every man has his last straw, and last night that was Mulder’s. He starts ranting and raving about “How difficult is it to keep sheet sets together!?” and “Why do the Girls keep losing our stuff!?” Due to some real struggles on their end, last year we hired The Girls to help keep the place tidy, and take our laundry over. Protip: It’s incredibly awkward hiring friends. Don’t do it.
Anyway… since Mulder’s rant wasn’t aimed, directly, at me, it just glanced off my funnybone – and set me to giggling. I end up laying on our bed, laughing with tears out of my eyes, and Mulder, finally calmer, is just looking at me with one eyebrow spocked up.
When I finally calmed down, I got as far as saying “The peas!” before I set myself off again.
Mulder, somehow naturally, didn’t quite see what was so funny.