Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Good eggs with onions.

Dear Globlets,

My brother.

Need I say more?

Perhaps for those who do not know him, I need to. My brother is great. He helps me get my shit together when I'm rushing around, trying not to be late for work. He'll fill my water bottle and grab me a snack. He's a good egg, as the fabulous Esther Parker would say. As good of an egg as he is, he is also sometimes the most oblivious. For example, in Chile, my dad and I ate nearly half a container of ice cream right next to Adrian before he realized we had been eating his favourite flavour for the last ten minutes. Adrian also likes to do things the longest possible way around. For example, I just asked him to take out the compost and the garbage. I would have, first, put Lucy in the bathroom so I wouldn't have to worry about her running away. Then I would have put the freshly-cut veggie bits into the compost container, grabbed the garbage on my way out, and put the compost in the "Incinerator" (as my mom calls it) and the garbage in the bin. One trip. Adrian, on the other hand, goes to the door with the cutting board full of veggie bits in hand and then realizes Lucy wants to go out. She has wanted to escape every day for five years, yet Adrian is never prepared for this. He shoos her away. She leaves. He unlocks the door. She returns. I suggest that he put down the cutting board and THEN put her in the bathroom. He does so, leaves, and makes two more trips: one for the compost container and then another for the garbage.

Sometimes when I facepalm at the lack of efficiency this boy demonstrates, he gets upset, I get in trouble, and occasionally I'll feel bad. He just has a weird way of doing things. He cares not about multiple trips or suggestions from me on how to speed up the process.

Today, I decided to make soup. As the good egg he is, Adrian helped me prepare the veggies.

We peel the carrots and parsnip, clean and trim the celery and leek, drop in the peppercorns and cloves of garlic, and dunk in the chicken legs. I check in the baskets where we keep shallots, onions, potatoes, and garlic for an onion, only to find three squishy/powdery green ones. I decide not to kill my family, so instead of putting them in the soup, I chuck them.

"Adrian, can you please go to the store and get an onion?" I ask.
"Okay," he says, staring at Family Guy.
"Can you... go get it now?"
"Okay." He gets off the bar stool and pets Lucy.
"So, you're okay with getting the onion?" I say, anxiously looking at the nearly-boiling pot of almost-soup.
"Wait, what? Me?"
"Yes, you're getting the onion. Look at me. Do I look ready to go out?" I point at the tissue stuck in my nose. "I'm sick, remember? Can you get a small yellow one, with the brown on the outside? You know."
"Oh. Okay."

Soon enough, he returns with a medium-sized onion. I take off the first crispy layers, and before I drop it into the soup, I want to make sure it isn't too late to do so because the soup was already boiling. I explain to my mom: "In the time it took Adrian to go get a new onion (because the others were dead), the soup started boiling. Is it okay to put the onion in as it is or is it too late?"
"There are some onions. I bought them yesterday," she replies, even though I know there aren't any onions in the basket.

I look at Adrian. "Did you go to the store with mom yesterday?" I ask.
"Yes." He looks at the hanging baskets where we keep our fruit.
"Who put the onions there?" I ask him, pointing at what I now know is a plastic bag of onions next to the apples.
"Me," he replies.
"And who just went to the store to buy a new onion?"
"Me."
"Okay, that's what I thought. Just checking."

"Maybe he likes the exercise?" my mom suggested.
"He must."

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