the beans had boiled. the sauce was ready. all that was missing was the package of tofu wieners i knew for a fact i had bought, paid for, packed, unpacked and put in the fridge the day before.
well aware of my tendencies and my deficiencies, mental, psychological and otherwise, i looked everywhere. in the pantry, in the freezer, in the recycling bag...the verdict was clear: mister monkey, in his early morning foraging had thoughtlessly grabbed the package of tofu wieners and was even now slurping them back one by one like some cheap porn star.
i did what i typically do - i phoned him and, frustrated at having gotten his answering machine, i hollered: did you take the wieners? you stole the wieners! how could you! you knew i was going to....click.
it didn't take long for him to phone me back. clearly his wife was insane and required swift psychiatric help: calling him at work, ranting something unintelligible about wieners and hanging up in midsentence, this was odder than the typical harangues.
through gritted teeth, i explained. he swore he didn't take the wieners. i said he did. he said he did not. i said he did. he said he did not. clearly, an impasse. could our marriage take it? he suggested they must have crawled out, snake-like, in the car, and were even now growing a furry mold under the back seat cushions.
i had to bite the bullet and drag my aching carcass down to the parkade and root in the less-than-immaculate back seat to find the errant wieners. in my desperation (i prefer the comfort of the couch with its elegant pile of used tissues and orange peel to the dark uncertainty of a wiener hunt) i decided to check in the fridge one last time.
then, a hunch. i lifted the plastic container filled with mister monkey's snack radishes and there it was: the lost package of wieners, grinning, i swear it, puckishly at me.
we ate the fuckers anyway.