Another day, another doctor's appointment and a kitchen disaster

Another day, another doctor’s appointment.  Two days ago, Elliott went to our primary care physician and had the wax chiseled out of his ears.  Today, we had to return to the doctor because Elliott seems to be suffering from some kind of gastrointestinal virus and a urinary tract infection – both at the same time.  It’s nothing very serious, but as you can imagine, he’s not feeling very perky.  At least he’s on an antibiotic now and that should clear up the infection quickly.  And we’re hoping the GI virus will be of short duration. 

Warning – the following story contains disturbing images.  It started innocently enough.  I went into the kitchen around 5:00 this afternoon to bake a batch of brownies.  Now, I wouldn’t normally be baking something as decadent as brownies, but I promised to bring them in for the bake sale that we’re having at tomorrow’s STAND benefit concert.  Although I have a lot of cooking experience, I haven’t done much baking so I decided to use a mix.  The one I chose was a national brand and it seemed simple enough.  Stir the mix with oil, water and a couple of eggs; put it in the buttered baking pan; bake half an hour and cool.  I should mention that to make the brownies extra-special, I added some raspberry preserves, just a little, to the batter.  (The only thing better than chocolate is chocolate with raspberries.) 

The batter looked beautiful in the pan when it went into the oven.  The kitchen was soon filled with a mouth-watering aroma.  When I took the pan out of the oven, those brownies looked so good and they smelled divine.  I was certain everyone would be raving about them tomorrow.  But, alas, that was before I tried to remove them from the pan. 

I referred to the directions on the box for guidelines on how to cut the brownies.  I set out all of my cooling racks.  I drew lines through the semi-cooled brownies with my best metal spatula.  Very gently, I inserted the spatula at the edge of the pan and pushed it along the bottom so I could lift out the first brownie.  So far, there was no sign of trouble.  But when I went to slide the brownie onto the rack, it refused to budge.  I had no choice but to lift it off with my hand – and the bottom half of the brownie, still gooey and slightly warm, remained on the spatula.  Well, I couldn’t use the spatula again until I cleaned it off.  You can probably guess where the bottom half of the brownie ended up.  If you guessed in my tummy, you’re right.  I couldn’t let all of that deliciousness go to waste.  Now repeat the previous procedure a few times, and you get the idea. 

I was starting to feel slightly sick from all the chocolate I’d eaten, so before I continued with the de-panning, I did a critical survey of the five brownies sitting on the rack.  They were grossly misshapen.  Dejectedly, I picked at a corner of one and then another, and popped the pieces into my mouth.  Delicious, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to bring them in for the bake sale.  To console myself, I ate a little more.  And then, I decided that I would have to take drastic action.  Without saying a word to Elliott, who was sitting less than fifteen feet away, I walked over to the trash, and mercilessly dumped all of the brownies in.  It’s a terrible world, where only perfect brownies survive.