going to have to start checking the condiments

A little while a go Abby asked if I would make her a chore chart, so she could keep track of her "jobs". One of the jobs on her chart and Maya's too is, set and clear the table. And they've been doing it, which is awesome or so we thought.

Saturday afternoon Mike was in the kitchen making himself something for lunch. One of his weight watcher's go to lunches is grilled chicken and veggies with a drizzle of buffalo wing sauce on a high fibre wrap. And that's what he had made himself. I was upstairs gathering together the laundry when I heard him calling me from downstairs, requesting very insistently that I come down.

You need to come here! Now! I'm serious! Now!

I get to the doorway of the kitchen and Mike appears to be splattered with blood. There's a huge glob of something red beginning at his temple and streaking back into his hair. There are splatters across his shirt, hands and arms. His eyes are closed.

You have to help me!

I look around and my kitchen looks like a crime scene. Red splatters are everywhere, the floor, garbage can, fridge and stove. I'm going to need Dexter to solve this crime. It was a little bit of a shock to walk into a room looking like that, luckily it wasn't actually blood, but rather buffalo wing sauce dangerously close to his eye. His skin was already starting to burn, especially the skin around his eye and temple. Not surprisingly, he was afraid to open his eyes, so I helped he get into the shower to wash off. He did manage to avoid getting any into his eyes, but he said his skin still burned for quite some time after his shower.

So how in the world did he do that? Well when he grabbed the bottle out of the fridge, for some reason he thought he should give it a shake and the lid wasn't screwed on. He's the only one who uses it, so he really had no one to blame but himself......

until

later that day I grabbed the jar of mayo out of the fridge and sent it sailing across the kitchen. The lid was still in my hand, but the bottle was several feet ahead of me, on the floor with it's contents oozing out onto the tile.

Well, what the hell?!

Turns out our little table clearing crew has only be *placing* the lids every so gently on top of bottles and jars we use with dinner, instead of, you know, actually screwing them on. Yet another thing to keep us on our toes.