Yield to the Power of the Scround

I'd just published the latest post to my thrifting blog and-- beeewwwwwp!--- my computer shut down, the overhead lights winked out, and I heard my housemate in her room say, "Awwww!"

This was at 2:30 yesterday afternoon.

A summer storm had come and went, and took the power with it. I blinked at the blank computer screen a moment, willing it back to life.

Electricity doesn't work on will, in case you were wondering. If it did, Uri Gellar would stop pretending to bend spoons with his mind and would move on to generating something actually useful.

I spent five minutes wandering around my house like a lost soul as it poured down outside, thinking apparently that by pacing from room-to-room, the lights might come back on again.

They didn't.

So-- what to do? Well, I thought, I could finally clean out that one cabinet and-- er, no. I'd need to, oh, see to do that.

I could change the linens-- but no, ditto the darkness issue.

Have a cup of tea and kick back? Well, the stove is electric and so is the microwave. Kibosh the tea.

I settled down in the living room, by the bay window, with a book. The housemate seemed to have a similar idea. And after two hours or so, I began to worry.

And not about whether I'd be able to get up in the morning on time without my electric alarm clock...

Not about the fact my car was trapped in my garage because the garage door was on electric power...

Not about how I would get ready with no blow-drier, no curling iron...

Not about the fact there was a nice steak thawing in the fridge for dinner that might go to waste...

And amazingly, not how I would even know who I was without coffee in the morning.

No, I started to worry-- strangely-- about the scround of peach Breyers ice cream in the freezer. The beautiful, sweet, creamy, as-yet-untouched-by-a-scoop half-gallon of frozen fruity goodness. Fatty, fabulous Breyers ice cream which I hadn't had in years and had planned to treat myself with. And if the power didn't come back in time, well, that scround would be a goner.

Cut off in its prime.

More time passed. The black skies yielded to sun, and still, no hum of the refrigerator. No woosh of the central air. The book was entertaining, and there was at least lunch meat for sandwiches for dinner but...

The scround. What about the scround?

The sun began its decent behind the bigger houses on the street above. My book grew closer and closer to the tip of my nose, and at 8:45 it became fairly obvious that my evening's entertainment was rapidly coming to an end. I brushed my teeth in the dark, still wide awake, still thinking whether I could get away with not washing my hair for one day, and where I could pick up some java, and how I would find matching clothes and...

That poor lost scround.

I lay there in the dark, thinking what I might post today if there was time. And about emails that went unanswered, and visitors ignored and again, what about that coffee and...

Beeeeeewwwp! A huff of air, the beep of an answering machine, the click of the clock.

"Yaaaayy!" cheered the housemate from her room.

Thank goodness, I thought. The ice cream probably made it.

A scround is a terrible thing to waste.

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