Saturday night found Miles craving popcorn. A couple of years ago, we spent the smartest twenty bucks that we've ever spent and purchased an air popper. I'm not overly fond of the microwave stuff, so I brought stove-popped popcorn to the table of our relationship. My partner judged it as more delicious than the nuked fare, so we continued on with our popcorn preparation in this manner.

Then I noticed a pattern. Miles would pull...a "Miles". He would crave the popcorn, he would pop it...and then leave the pot for me to clean. This got old very fast, as you can imagine.

So, in 2003, for health reasons of the mental, physical, and relationship sort, we acquired an air popper. It's the handiest thing in the world...idiot proof in every way. (Did you read that, Miles? Idiot proof in every way.)

You throw a half-cup of popcorn seeds into the device, plug it in, and walk away. Easy, no?

Well, last Saturday, Miles sprouted so many extra thumbs that I held my breath every time he approached something somewhat delicate...you know, like me...erm...and the dinnerware. Why I thought he could handle the air popper escapes me.

*sigh*