So, it was a prematurely snow-bound weekend in NoCo. By snow-bound, I mostly mean "a long-awaited quiet day spent inside." Because the Osita and I had a late (and big) breakfast, we weren't really hungry enough to rationalize a gut-busting dinner. So we made popcorn.
The Osita chose to season hers with olive oil and "Italian seasoning," while Don Oso chose a more fitting and malodorous blend of Parmesan cheese and Cholula. The next thing I know, The Osita was calling me back to reality with that ever-so-familiar question: "Honey, what's on your mind?"
Apparently, popcorn physics was on my mind. I had drifted off into a fantasy challenge issued by a king of some far off medieval land. The king had issued a decree, challenging his underlings to separate his popped corn from the mandible-cracking unpopped kernels that remained on the bottom of whatever grail or platter he consumed his popcorn out of.
The challenge was this: it was apparently not fitting for the king to separate his popcorn by use of something like a prospector's pan, where the unpopped gold would simply fall through the bottom of a screen leaving his majesty's buttery treasure behind. No, this particular (imaginary) patriarch wanted the popped corn to escape through the top of a device, leaving the waste kernels behind. Why? I don't know. But for some reason, I felt up to the challenge and I told him so.
That's when the king added the following provision: the popcorn must escape this sorting device unscathed. Even damaging a single kernel would result in beheading. Throwing caution to the wind, I replied, "no problem."
So, I unveiled my device to the king. Immediately, the fan-blade mechanism at the bottom of my popcorn-sorting device knocked one lobe off of a popped kernel. Before that damaged morsel hit the ground, my head did.
That's when I heard The Osita ask, "Honey, what's on your mind?"
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