“What’s this?!” She gestured widely to the sink stacked with most of our pots and pans.

“Oh, yeah…” I had awoken late having disabled my alarm for a laissez faire, let the Earth (or my bladder) wake me, morning. I hadn’t left a note and I can see now that I had inadvertently breached the dishes-need-to-be-done-now sink coverage.

“No wonder your daughter has been hiding in her room all morning,” she said, apparently realizing the same thing.  

“It was just an experiment, they’re not, too dirty.”

“An experiment? Then why didn’t you put them all back in the cabinet?”

“Well…” I obviously couldn’t tell the truth. There wasn’t a “sorry” powerful enough to follow explaining how all of her Williams-Sonoma were positioned in the mud and grass so I could set up my microphone to record the rain pattering all over them. “…just an experiment.”

“Were you cooking… pasta?” 

“No.”

“Then why is my new sauce pan dirty?”

“It’s…”

“When did we buy a wok?”