Pandemic Pandemonium aka Where Are My Pants?

I’m going through an unfortunate Velveeta cheese stage right now. Since I have readers from six continents (hello, Antartica?), let me pause to explain that Velveeta is a Midwestern U.S. indulgence seen mostly during college football season and always in a Crockpot. It comes in a box and requires no refrigeration before opening; therefore, it is NOT cheese. In fact, I gave up Velveeta 20+ years ago, not coincidentally around the same time I began referring to my omelettes as frittatas.

During all this pandemic pandemonium I haven’t bothered to wear pants—unless sweat pants or yoga pants count. So when I went to the doctor last week and stood on the scale I was aghast and demanded drugs for my unexplained weight gain. I even had blood drawn to check my thyroid. “Your thyroid is fine,” she said when the results came in. “Are you sure you’re not eating too much?” Then in my mind I heard her say, “Like, maybe, two pounds of Velveeta?”

I can explain.

Devil Dog went blind. Well, not blind blind. Just blind in one eye—like, his-eye-was-removed blind. A week after surgery he was doing pretty well with his one-eyedness when he was viciously mauled by another dog.

We had been walking in our neighborhood so The Husband ran back to our house to get the car while I held Devil and tried to keep him calm. This happened on a Thursday. When Friday rolled around and The Husband finally showed back up with the car (I exaggerate), I flopped into the passenger seat and slowly, slowly, began to see…that…I…was…covered in shit. “Why am I covered in shit?” I queried, with the innocence of a babe in arms. The Husband replied in a whisper, “It was me.” Then whole scene played back in my mind. I remembered the other dog coming at us, the screaming and then The Husband beating the other dog with Devil’s poop bag. I was covered in the stuff and The Husband seemed fresh as sunshine. Not that I’m saying he left me on that street corner so he could get cleaned up but, your Honor, I give you Exhibit A.

All this horror happened to Devil from late July to October so I was Jonesin’ for some normal. College football was back and my sweat pants were clean enough to pass the Smell Test. I dusted off the Crockpot and found a soup recipe that called for perfectly decadent ingredients including a pound of Velveeta cheese.

When kickoff was upon us, we ladled ourselves big bowls of soup. Wait, no. It was chip dip and I had made five quarts of it. Also, the game was not televised. Also, I still had a pound of left-over Velveeta.

Six weeks later, Devil is back to his old self. He even fetches the ball again which, as faithful readers know, is Devil’s whole raison d’être. I’m not quite back to my old self yet but I have a plan: The chip dip and the Velveeta should run out just in time to usher in 2021 at which time I’ll put on some pants (zero guarantee that they will zip) and make myself a frittata.

***Don’s scroll further if you don’t want to see Devil’s dreadful mauling***