The grill of it all

Mmm. Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. That's what I was in the mood to make for dinner last night. Three orders coming up (Janet was working late at the library and would have to fend for herself).

I had only gotten as far as getting out the cheese and bread and heating up the pan and applying some cooking spray when Emmett called to get picked up from the church. Ethan was in the kitchen.

"Keep going," I said, gesturing to the stove.

"But, but ..." This translates as: "I don't know how to make grilled cheese sandwiches." We're talking a fourteen-year-old honor student here, so I just kept moving toward the door.

"Put on the bread and keep going," I said. "It's not rocket science."

When Emmett and I got back about seven minutes later, two pieces of bread were indeed on the grill. Side by side. No cheese on top of either piece of bread. Thankfully, the stove burner had been on low, so the bread wasn't burned. Ethan was still in the kitchen, reading the sports pages.

I made a sound that I don't know how to spell. Sort of a release of breath from inside the throat. This translates as: "Why in tarnation aren't these sandwiches farther along?"

In response, Ethan said: "You just said to put on the bread."

"'And keep going,'" I said, quoting myself from earlier.

Ethan threw up his hands. "Well." This translates as: "I told you I didn't know how to make grilled cheese sandwiches."

Then ensued a conversation about being able to deduce how to make a grilled cheese sandwich simply from having eaten them with regularity. But I don't have the strength to transcribe it.

Ethan, Ya Goof!