The Cinnamon Rolls That Were Never Meant to Be

The evening is coming to a close, and I sit on my couch, eating a Subway sandwich and drinking a Coke. Not quite how I pictured my dinner would transpire. So let me regale you with a tale – a tale of clumsiness, hunger and one seriously massive mess.

I began the night with high hopes. Hungry and looking for something delicious (though not concerned with nutritional value), I decided to attempt a recipe for mouthwatering homemade cinnamon rolls.

So I set forth on this project. Realizing I was short on flour, without yeast and needing cream cheese, I headed to the store. I stocked up and came home. Upon returning home, I realized I was also without eggs. So I headed out, yet again, to the mini mart next door.

Finally having all my ingredients, I began. It’s an arduous task, making dough, kneading dough. It’s sticky, messy and takes a lot of effort and patience. But I stuck it out. When it was ready, I floured up my cutting board and began rolling out the dough, only to realize the board was way too small. So, without much care or attention, I flipped the board over to get the dough onto the counter, where I could roll it more comfortably. And that’s when it happened.

The heavy wooden board caught our big round fishbowl, shattering its side. Water, colored stones, seaglass and one very scared Betta fish streamed across the counter in a giant wave. I heard the sound of water splashing to the floor, across each side of the counter – into the kitchen, into the living room. I saw it happen, watched in horror as the utter and complete mess invaded my apartment. My clothes were wet, the floor was wet, the counter was wet … everything but the fish was wet! Panicked, I threw open cupboards to find something to put Pesci in.

Finding an old vase under the sink, I began frantically rinsing it (as it had held flowers before) so Pesci could safely reside in it. But I was shaking from my little accident, and I banged the vase up against the sink, breaking it! NOOOOOOOO!!!! Time was running out for poor Pesci. So, I grabbed a cup and looked for some spring water. I found a sealed gallon, but couldn’t get it open, so I filled the cup with filtered water. Now, where was Pesci?!?!?! I looked around, starting to panic that the little guy was dying, and found him, flopping on the counter next to the stove. I scooped him into the cup and put him down, hoping against hope that he would overcome the trauma.

Now, it was cleanup time. Oh, cleanup time. It took every terrycloth towel in the house, several rolls of paper towels and a whole lot of elbow grease to clean up every drop of water, shard of glass and little colored stone. It was a quite the task. Not to mention there are still a whole lot of soggy items hanging around the kitchen, on the patio or dry, and in the washing machine.

So, here I sit, with my Subway sandwich, a whole bunch of dirty dishes and some wet belongings. No cinnamon rolls. No fishbowl. And one traumatized fish.

Lesson? Be prepared. Clear your countertop before cooking. S*** happens. That’s life, I suppose. But at least no one got hurt – except of course, my stomach. And keep your fingers crossed that the ever-resilient Pesci suffers no further trauma.

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