Sigh . . . I have just created a dirt road that I think looks a lot like a real dirt road. In my quest to carefully scenic each area of the layout as realistically as possible, I have now gone to Mother Nature herself.
I used real dirt form the yard and baked it for one hour at 450 degrees. I knew it was ready when the smoke from the twigs in the dirt started coming out of the oven.
It took four hours to air out the house, but the bathroom deodorizer worked really well.
I then carefully scooped the dirt into my wife's sifter with a crank handle making the separation of fine dirt and small rocks/twigs much easier. I never really thought this out, though. My wife loves to bake and I simply assumed I could clean the sifter so well that, when placed back into the cabinet, all would be well.
To make matters even more interesting, I left my wife's sifter on the counter. When she came home, she asked why the sifter was out.
Huh?
Why is the sifter out?
Sifter?
(Glare) (An answer would be required)
I was baking.
Baking what?
Yes.
What? (she was inching toward the machete) (Never mess with an angry wife who is in better shape than you and is really ****ed)
I baked some dirt.
(Evil smile) You used my flour sifter to sift baked dirt?
I had one eye on my wife and one eye on the patio door. She was a champion swimmer but I was motivated by fear.
We can name the road Sifter Road. (Quick thought to deflect anger)
I'll get you a new sifter. (Quickly stated when above thought failed)
Put that down. (Please)
You said you loved me.
I'll get you a new sifter.
I meant well, sweetheart.
Aghhhhhhhhhhhh
Fade to black.
Anyone else get caught using your wife's household tools forcing an accounting and an apology?
Scrappy
!
