Monday, October 10, 2005

F@#& Santa

I apparently have a problem with my Pfaltzgraff. No, it's not some new kind of STD, don't be worried you can't catch it. Pfaltzgraff makes dishes and stuff. More importantly, they make MY dishes. A couple Christmases ago I got a set of dishes, service for eight. Excellent present, if I do say so myself. Better than the extension ladder I got for my birthday. No offense, mom.
Whooo, Happy Birthday, now clean the gutters. Anyway, I digress.
So, I've got these really nice dishes, with a pattern I really like. They say right on the back of them "Microwave safe." But, apparently there's some kind of issue when you microwave a chicken breast. Or, when you microwave some chicken breasts. Twice now, technically once before and once now, I hear this loud pop and when you inspect the plate after 'waving you find a crack more than halfway across the plate. That's bad. I now have service for six-ish. Oh wait, Greg broke one, service for five-ish. Unless we're having soup, still have eight bowls. Anyway, getting off track again.
So, what's wrong with the combination of supposedly-microwave-safe plates + seemingly-microwave-safe chicken + decidedly-microwave-save microwave that = broken plates?
When another broke last night, Kenny, my roommate Danielle's boyfriend, says I should just throw the rest of them away.
"No," I say, "I got them from Santa (a.k.a. my mom).
"F@#% Santa," Kenny adds.
And that sir, is precisely why you'll be getting coal this year.

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