Channel 416


Channel 416 is “spa music”.

It is about the only thing preventing me from going all “hell hath no fury” on the Blond and the Brunette.

Today we had a SodaStreamtastrophe.  I was in the bedroom, they asked if they could make some, I said sure.  Next thing I know I hear “OH NO!” and then frantic whispering and the sound of paper towels being torn furiously from the roll.  All of those things in combination can only mean one thing: KK’s gonna be mad.

But I didn’t say anything.

I just stayed quietly in the bedroom listening to their (horribly loud, by the way) whispered conversation and thinking, “this ought to be good”.

And it was.

I didn’t think carbonated Dr. P could travel such great distances.  I didn’t think any liquid could transcend physical barriers, like cupboard doors and drawers.  I didn’t think it could turn corners getting in behind every nook and cranny of the Super Kitchen.  But it did.  Oh it did.

They were already downstairs playing with their friend again when I finally snuck out to see the damage.

They thought they’d gotten one past me.  That I would “never know”.

But I always know.

And so, having finished cleaning up the damage, now I am sitting here quietly, and listening to channel 416.  Don’t worry, I won’t let this one slide, that would just be bad stepmonstering.





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