Saturday, March 21, 2009


While I was honing my Couch Jedi skills this afternoon, Chris was at the hardware store buying a squeegee to clean the very windows I was taking photos of from the couch. And instead of peeling me a grape when he got home, Chris actually washed those windows.

Lucky for all of us here at Gruel for Dinner, I was able to take that photo without stepping off the Millennium Falcon that is my couch (I'm going to work this metaphor to the bone), although I did have to pause my show.

I was finally forced off the mothership when Chris stuck his head in the window (at this point he was out on the roof washing the south-facing windows) and requested that I go ask the neighbor if she wanted her windows washed (who is this man, and how did I convince him to marry me? In my world, neighbors are people you pretend you don't see when you're standing next to them in the elevator). Out of some misplaced sense of guilt I did as he asked, completely forgetting that I WAS WEARING MY JEDI OUTFIT.

In case it's unclear, I just knocked on my neighbor's door wearing high-water orange fleece pants; striped socks; clogs that are at least two sizes too small, forcing me to walk in a shuffle; and a stained pink sweater with gaping holes in the armpits. The neighbor actually looked scared when she answered.

There goes the neighborhood.


  1. You are out. of control. I would suggest taking this Gruel for Dinner-thing on the road, but of course that would require...

  2. Look at me! I figured out how to post comments here. Now if I could just think of anything to say...

  3. So what did the neighbors say? You know, I love any little tidbit about those weirdo neighbors of yours.

  4. CT, having something to say is definitely not a prerequisite for posting. That's pretty much the Gruel for Dinner motto: So little to say, so many words used to say it.

    Mojie, wrong neighbors. This was the doctor/resident lady, not the crazy couple.

  5. Why on earth are you holding on to clogs that are too small? These are fabulous, Kate. But isn't there some way to make money with this thing? If you're giving up on the GAN, at least market the blog. (Spoken like a stepparent who wants to ensure my near final resting place is more like the spot in Arizona than St. Albans.)