warm milk and teh dog from hell

even though warm milk is the most disgustingly vile thing on the planet, it does help me get to sleep sometimes. so i figured hey, why the fruck not, and set about going upstairs to get me a cuppa.

i figure i can't use the microwave. far too beepy. if you'll remember the entry about the books made of paper, my mother doesn't sleep very deeply. so i decide i'll go all 1850s and heat up my cup of milk in a pot. virtually silent. stir it around for two or three minutes, rinse the pot, leisurely sip it, sleep. plus, these folks should be in their deepest stage of REM sleep right now. shouldn't they? shouldn't they?! even the dog that refuses to move until noon should be snoring. hell, i can hear ALL OF THEM snoring through the floor. even the dog, and the mom that doesn't sleep. (no, i don't know how it works either). even socks lies in the rocking chair next to my bed doing her weird snoregrowl thing. the only one i don't hear snoring is the elusive babycat, who is probably snoring in the living room but doesn't have the lung power to broadcast to me. this whole house is fucking comatose. so of course it is time to be a rebel and run upstairs and get some milk!

so i tiptoe upstairs and am relieved to find that milk is rather plentiful. i gingerly and silently remove a pot from the evil ikea pot rack. i pour the milk in and put the stove on medium, and start stirring it around. i am amazed by how silent i am. i am fucking silencio. i have not made a peep. and then i hear it.

it comes running to me like it hasn't seen me in three thousand years. it shakes its beastly head and many dog tags, making the most noise i've ever heard at three in the morning. it yawns. it sounds like a dying power inverter, high pitched and shrill. it wants to know what i am doing in its kitchen at 3 am with a pot of milk on the stove. i tell it to be quiet. it does not understand english. it is about to vocalize its concerns about the hermit from the basement being upstairs at such an hour. it is about to voice these concerns loudly.

i am stuck. despite my measures to be completely and unabashedly silent, puggles hath heard my silent milk run. he has begun his signal again. (as soon as he shakes his many dog tags to make such ruckus, it signals mom to come out and say in a frustrated voice, "what the hell are you doing up?"). so i am left with little choice. i swiftly pour the very lukewarm milk into a mug and half assedly rinse out the pot*. i turn off the oven and run to the bottom of the stairs. puggles looks down at me, as if to say, "that's right, hermit. and STAY there."

i sit in my bed just in time to hear mom getting up out of bed.
i grin a grin of contentment, knowing that i narrowly escaped a) having to explain why i was upstairs warming milk in a pot all 1850s style and b) a lecture about why i shouldn't be awake at 3 am.

i look down to my mug to learn that socks has awoken from her snoregrowling and decided to play her own version of silencio. her fucking head is in my goddamn mug.

the calcium gods just do not want me to enjoy a nice cup of milk tonight.

*i will wash it in the morning