“But there’s a real need for cooks.”


“It’s only food for two hundred.” My Corgi whined. “I know I can do it.”

“I’m sorry, but I think it’s a disaster in the making.”

“What if I prove I’m able? Would you let me then? Huh, would you? Pleeeese?”

I have a hard time resisting Carl’s groveling, especially when he smiles in his special way.

“For you I will cook my rendition of spaghetti called, ‘Pasta Strings with Catsup a la Carl.’ You’ll love it.”

“As long as you don’t use real cats.”

Carl’s ears drooped. “I suppose I can alter the recipe.”

I left the kitchen to my Corgi and the house teamed with cooking-noises. But moments later, the activity seemed to drop off. A whimpering cry came from the kitchen. “Help. Help me please.”

I found him in the undignified situation shown below. Apparently Carl had lost an epic struggle with a whisk.

I released him and have never used the incident for an, “I told you so.”



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1 Response to Whisk

  1. Sure. First you document his humiliation for all the world to see, THEN you release him. No need for an “I told you so.”

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