At Least It wasn't My Fingers

Yesterday, in a rush of early morning chores, I decided to make muffins for the kids and their cousins, The Moofish Four.

Mrs Moofish had a quick appointment down the street, so the kids were to spend some time at my house.

I really wanted the muffins to be ready by the time they arrived, but, I also wanted to shower.  

Instead of choosing one over the other, I decided it would feasible to do both.  If I hurried.

So I quickly whipped together the muffins, got them into the oven, and then dropped all the measuring spoons in the sink, along with the dirty mixing bowl, and ran for the shower.

Soon after, The Moofish Four and my kiddos were quietly sitting at the table eating muffins....(OK, who am I kidding?  They were all laughing and talking and slurping milk, with their muffins) and began to clean my baking mess.

The recipe called for a couple eggs, and as I normally do, I threw the shells into the sink.  

While cleaning I noticed that the sink wasn't draining as quickly as possible, and I remembered the aforementioned eggshells. I reached over the sink to switch on the disposal, and the sound that came from my sink was a sound between a large mouse running his squeaky wheel and a Mack truck hitting a chain link fence. 

I immediately turned the disposal off.

Unfortunately, my first thought was not, Ooh! Something is stuck in there. But instead was those eggshells sure are tough.  And I turned the machine on again. 

This time the sound went something like ka-chunk! and then there was complete silence.

I stuck my hand in down into the sink hole and swished it around. 

I was kind of disgusted to find the remains of a half eaten banana, some very soggy bread, and of course the crunched up egg shells.  But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. 

So I ignored it.

Later as I was getting dinner ready and chatting with The Mister I decided that I would reach down in the disposal one last time before calling a plumber.   Deep down underneath some unknown metal object I felt the rounded edge of my favorite teaspoon set (given to me by a dear friend!). Sure enough I gave a good tug and it came loose. The 1/2 tsp was bent at the handle but none the worse for the wear.

I flipped the switch to the disposal again. 

Still Nothing.

I have no idea what possessed me to reach into the disposal yet a third time. Maybe it was the money I knew I was about to fork over to a plumber Maybe it was my women's intuition. Maybe it was the Good Lord giving my husband something in which to tease me about the rest of the evening, but somehow I managed to find another spoon.  This time the full teaspoon, who didn't bode so well.

The Mister couldn't believe that he had just watched me pull two metal measuring spoons out of the disposal.

The good news is that I don't have to call the plumber. 

The garbage disposal?

With the exception of kitchen utencils, it works like a charm.