Betrisher
Well-known member
- Jun 3, 2013
- 4,253
- 177
- Parrots
- Dominic: Galah(RIP: 1981-2018); The Lovies: Four Blue Masked Lovebirds; Barney and Madge (The Beaks): Alexandrines; Miss Rosetta Stone: Little Corella
Sigh. It all began because I was trying to buy a harp. I won't go into the details, but my son needs a new one and I have no idea about harp-shopping. Hence, I was sitting up Very Late and checking as many options as I could find online. It was during this time that my wicked daughter sidled up to me and said 'Mum! PLEASE can't we try the coffee liqueur we were given for Christmas?' Since my attention was really on the harp matter, I just nodded and let Ellie collect the liqueur and our tiny little blue shot-glasses.
Having poured out a nice little drop of what promised to be a lovely, strong, coffee-flavoured treat, Ellie offered me my glass, we toasted and sipped together.
EEEuuuurrrrgggghhhwwwww!!!
Honestly, it tasted like condensed urine sample. I'm sorry: there's no other adequate description. We both spent five minutes gargling and then trying to wipe our tongues with tissues, it was so bad! Then, Ellie hit on the clever idea of popping in a drop of cream.
'Perhaps', she suggested, 'it's not meant to be drunk neat. Perhaps you have to put milk or cream in...?'
* So she brought an unopened carton of cream and I opened it and plopped a drop into my glass. Tasting it, I thought 'Urgh. That's still not quite right'. I felt I should check the cream. 'Glargle' I went, swallowing a good gulp of the stuff (I like cream...)
Cream was off. More gargling, more tissues, much laughter from my black-hearted daughter.*
'Ack!' I said, checking out the Use-By date on the carton. 'Bring the other carton, you 'orrible child! This one died before Christmas!'
So she brought the second carton. Read from * to * above to see what happened then. Not only was the cream off, but I should have realised when I saw all the dints in the carton had been pushed out by the expanding gas within it. There are none so blind as those who will not see...
'Put the wretched cartons back in the fridge for now,' I said: 'I'll wash them out in the morning'. Famous last words. Of course, Ellie put the two evil, fulminating cartons in the egg section in the top of the fridge door where they're above my eye level. Next, Ellie had the brilliant idea of opening the bottle of Kahlua (real coffee liqueur) which she had been given for her birthday last year. That would take the nasty taste away and be very pleasant. She did and it could and it was! Yum.
OK. Two nights have gone by. It's been a stinking hot day today and a whole series of things have gone wrong for all of us. Before you ask, no I still haven't found a harp.
Anyway, we had hamburgers for tea and were just settling in for a nice quiet night when my hubby asked me to watch a TV show about human dissections with him. OK. 'I'll just get a bottle of cold water out of the fridge', I said.
A huge puddle of off cream was puddling on the floor. It had dribbled all the way down the door and also puddled in each of the shelves. It had splashed onto the Christmas ham, wrapped in its calico ham-bag as well as a bag of two cold chickens I'd earmarked for a picnic lunch tomorrow and two loaves of fresh bread. Best of all, it had flowed into the little locked drawer that holds various medicines in a safe place. Everything in the fridge was liberally decorated with yellow, clotted, off cream. The two (nearly empty) cartons were where dear little Ellie had left them: on their sides in the egg-shelf. Of course, the gases inside the cartons had expanded and thus they (the cartons) had exploded. All over my fridge.
Thus it is that I have just emerged from my kitchen, having emptied and washed the entire contents of my refrigerator. The smell of off cream is still in my nostrils, but it is no longer in the fridge. I wiped it all with vanilla and left a saucer of bicarb in the corner: it seems to be working.
Hubby is still enjoying his human dissection program and I'm off to the shower to wash away the last vestiges of off cream.
The dog, Roxanne, persists in licking the floor in front of the fridge where cream had puddled. I really don't care about that... :22_yikes:
Having poured out a nice little drop of what promised to be a lovely, strong, coffee-flavoured treat, Ellie offered me my glass, we toasted and sipped together.
EEEuuuurrrrgggghhhwwwww!!!
Honestly, it tasted like condensed urine sample. I'm sorry: there's no other adequate description. We both spent five minutes gargling and then trying to wipe our tongues with tissues, it was so bad! Then, Ellie hit on the clever idea of popping in a drop of cream.
'Perhaps', she suggested, 'it's not meant to be drunk neat. Perhaps you have to put milk or cream in...?'
* So she brought an unopened carton of cream and I opened it and plopped a drop into my glass. Tasting it, I thought 'Urgh. That's still not quite right'. I felt I should check the cream. 'Glargle' I went, swallowing a good gulp of the stuff (I like cream...)
Cream was off. More gargling, more tissues, much laughter from my black-hearted daughter.*
'Ack!' I said, checking out the Use-By date on the carton. 'Bring the other carton, you 'orrible child! This one died before Christmas!'
So she brought the second carton. Read from * to * above to see what happened then. Not only was the cream off, but I should have realised when I saw all the dints in the carton had been pushed out by the expanding gas within it. There are none so blind as those who will not see...
'Put the wretched cartons back in the fridge for now,' I said: 'I'll wash them out in the morning'. Famous last words. Of course, Ellie put the two evil, fulminating cartons in the egg section in the top of the fridge door where they're above my eye level. Next, Ellie had the brilliant idea of opening the bottle of Kahlua (real coffee liqueur) which she had been given for her birthday last year. That would take the nasty taste away and be very pleasant. She did and it could and it was! Yum.
OK. Two nights have gone by. It's been a stinking hot day today and a whole series of things have gone wrong for all of us. Before you ask, no I still haven't found a harp.
Anyway, we had hamburgers for tea and were just settling in for a nice quiet night when my hubby asked me to watch a TV show about human dissections with him. OK. 'I'll just get a bottle of cold water out of the fridge', I said.A huge puddle of off cream was puddling on the floor. It had dribbled all the way down the door and also puddled in each of the shelves. It had splashed onto the Christmas ham, wrapped in its calico ham-bag as well as a bag of two cold chickens I'd earmarked for a picnic lunch tomorrow and two loaves of fresh bread. Best of all, it had flowed into the little locked drawer that holds various medicines in a safe place. Everything in the fridge was liberally decorated with yellow, clotted, off cream. The two (nearly empty) cartons were where dear little Ellie had left them: on their sides in the egg-shelf. Of course, the gases inside the cartons had expanded and thus they (the cartons) had exploded. All over my fridge.
Thus it is that I have just emerged from my kitchen, having emptied and washed the entire contents of my refrigerator. The smell of off cream is still in my nostrils, but it is no longer in the fridge. I wiped it all with vanilla and left a saucer of bicarb in the corner: it seems to be working.
Hubby is still enjoying his human dissection program and I'm off to the shower to wash away the last vestiges of off cream.
The dog, Roxanne, persists in licking the floor in front of the fridge where cream had puddled. I really don't care about that... :22_yikes:
