I lost a hot dog bun in the kitchen yesterday.
I pulled four buns out of the freezer and whacked them apart for a quicker thaw. I placed them on a blue plate and put the plate on the counter in front of the toaster. I pulled open a drawer to grab foil to build a makeshift pan for the broiler and got to prepping dogs on it with a smattering of garlic powder and black pepper. The pepper grinder ground itself into oblivion and I found myself picking out the tiny pieces of black disgruntled plastic that looked suspiciously like peppercorns. The dogs and their makeshift pan were popped into the broiler and I thought to defrost the buns so they wouldn't get mushy. Into the microwave they went for a short stint on defrost. I turned myself around to pop the foil back into the drawer and pulled the buns out when the DING of the microwave sounded. With a clang the blue plate was dumped onto the counter, once again in front of the toaster and I headed out to the living room to retrieve my jar of water. When I returned to the kitchen (return is a relative word, I think I took all of six steps out of the kitchen to retrieve my jar) I thought I should defrost the buns a little bit more and it was then I noticed a bun gone awol.
I stopped short and fixed my face into an expression of confusion. I looked behind the plate, no bun. I looked on the floor, no bun. I looked in the kitchen sink, no bun. I looked in the microwave, no bun. I backed up four spaces and crouched low to see if the bun was under the kitchen cabinets or maybe it had decided to camouflage itself to match one of the many rugs scattered across the tiny floor. No. Bun.
Fixing my face into a more serious stage of confusion, I began to exclaim and interject and giggle with a mini tinge of madness. Perhaps I only took out three buns? I mean, how could I have lost a bun in the tiny kitchen when I had hardly even left the room. Then again, if anyone could misplace a hotdog bun without leaving the room it would be me. I once misplaced my hairbrush WHILE I was brushing my hair, and let's not forget the scissors incident and two weeks ago I managed to misplace my rescue inhaler while walking from the living room to the bedroom...I still have not found that thing and I could REALLY use it. After a quick search of the freezer (a search that made me more manic as an entire ice cube tray took a stage dive and hit the floor scattering half frozen ice cubes all about) determined I had indeed removed four buns I decided I was absolutely going loopy and allowed myself a moment of wanting to shout a bit or slam some things around. You might say I was frustrated. It was at this point when I heard the crackling of the broiler flames skate across the foil pan I had so artfully origamied up as an offering. An honest to goodness light bulb appeared atop the noggin and I pulled open the drawer that houses the foil and other papery bits. Lo and behold, a nicely defrosted and not mushy at all hot dog bun coyly presented itself to me.
Though I thought of it, I did not take four steps to the table to retrieve the camera to photograph this bit of insanity, instead I reached up and did a little twist, twist here...you know...to make sure my head wasn't actually about to fall off.
I don't know what I would do if I misplaced it.