Sofa King Picky

My hunny is such a picky guy.  He’s not picky about the clothes he wears or the beer he drinks or the food he eats.  He’s obviously not picky about his women because he married me . . . no, he just likes to pick.  
I swear he can’t help himself . . . any time he’s around a thermal blanket . . . you know the kind that get little balls of fluff on them . . . he likes to pick those little balls off and make bigger balls effectively make piles of pink fluff balls.

I don’t use those kinds of blankets at him cuz he’d pick, pick, pick it to nothingness.  But the motel we stay at . . . let’s just say if the innkeeper knew what he was doing to her bedding I’m sure she wouldn’t let us stay.  I try to take the evidence with me but the coverlet is looking a bit threadbare.

Anyhoo, on a recent vacation we was picking and picking and picking.  So, anytime I caught him at it I would stick out my hand and say, “Hand it over”.  Most times he would balk and vehemently protest his innocence.  Every once in a while I would manage to snatch the fuzz from right between his fingers but more often a wrestling match would ensue and I’d have to grapple puffs from wherever he managed to stash them. 

Now, don’t get the impression that this post is about picking on my hunny . . . get it?  picking, heh . . . because it’s not.  I’m leading up to something here.

Again, I caught him balling up some fuzz between his fingers; I took a swipe at it a managed to pinch it right from his grip. 

So there I am taunting him with the ball of fluff . . . rubbing it between my fingers . . . neener, neener neener . . . and he’s just looking at me blankly.   Then I realize that the fluff doesn’t feel quite so fluffy.  I look at it and it is NOT . . . I repeat . . . NOT fluff.  It’s a boogie!  Ew, ew, ew! 
 I thought I was going t o hurl.  Then he busts up laughing.  I got up and shmeared that booger all over his back.  That’ll teach him.  Ugh!  After allowing me to suffer in my queasiness for some time he finally confessed that it wasn’t a snotwad after all but a little bit of wax.  No, not from his ear.

Usually when we travel I bring snacks and whatnot . . . this trip, along with other goodies.  I brought Babybel Cheese wheels.  We were nomming on them and hubby asked me to save the waxy outer shells.  

They’re made with beeswax and he can use them to lubricate ammo or protecting wood.  Or maybe make wax sculptures.

See, it’s also about picking on me . . .

This leads to a cheese wax related tale of my beloved’s youth.  When he was around eight years old, his mom gave him the wax off a Gouda cheese wheel.  That’s real fun stuff for a kid!  It gets all smooshy and pliable.  For whatever reason he has failed to reasonably explain to me, he took it to bed with him.   While he was in bed playing with his ball of cheese wax he fell asleep.  When he woke up the next morning he couldn’t find his ball of wax.  That’s because it was stuck to the back of his head.  Further softened by his body heat, the wax was melted into his hair making a waxy, clotted mess.  It wouldn’t shampoo out.  His mother attempted to remove the wax by wrapping his hair in a towel and applying an iron to melt it.  it worked to some degree but it took a while for all of the residue to wash away. 

To be fair, I will tell my childhood hair related incident.  i was playing with a neighbor boy and we happened upon a bucket of tar near the back of his parent’s property.  It seemed like a good idea at the time to open it up and play with the mucky stuff.  I don’t remember all the details but I can tell you that when I got home from playing that day my mother was horrified her little tomboy daughter had turned into a tarbaby.  There was melting the tar to get it out of my hair.  She had no choice but to cut off all my hair.  
I recall that I wasn’t thrilled with my new hair-do.  i also recollect that getting the tar off my skin wasn’t so much fun, either.  I’m thinkin’ I looked a little like Brittany Spears avoiding getting drug tested.

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Strawberry Tiramisu for Two

• 1 Pint Fresh Strawberries
• 1/2 Cup Confectioners' Sugar
• 1 Cup Mascarpone Cheese
• 1/2 Cup Heavy Cream
• 2 Tablespoons Coffee-Flavored Liqueur
• 18 Ladyfingers
• 1/3 Cup Chilled Espresso
• 1/2 Teaspoon Unsweetened Cocoa Powder

Reserve 2 large whole berries for garnish.

In a blender, place 2 cups of strawberries and 2 tablespoons confectioners sugar; blend to puree and set aside.

In a medium bowl, combine mascarpone cheese, 1/4 cup cream, 1/4 cup sugar, and liqueur.

Beat with an electric mixer on medium-high speed for 1 to 1 1/2 minutes until thickened.

Place 6 ladyfingers on a serving plate and brush each with approximately 1 teaspoon cold espresso coffee. 

Spread or pipe out 1/2 of the cheese mixture over the ladyfingers.  Spread with a layer of puree.

Repeat with the next 6 ladyfingers, espresso, remaining cheese mixture, and sliced strawberries; top with remaining 6 ladyfingers.

In a small mixing bowl, combine 1/4 cup heavy cream with 2 tablespoons sugar; beat with an electric mixer on medium-high speed until just whipped, approximately 1 minute. 

Spread cream evenly over top layer of ladyfingers.  Dust cocoa over whipped cream, and garnish with 2 reserved strawberries.

Pour strawberry puree onto two serving plates. Cut tiramisu in half, and place onto puree.