Day B2: Boo-boo or, The Whisky Rebellion #AtoZChallenge

 Posted by M. K. Waller

There I went again.

Blogging A to Z asked, “Can you post every day except Sundays during this month?  And to up the bar, can you blog thematically from A to Z?”

And I said, “Yes.”

The good news is that I got off to an energetic start on April 1 (the only post Sunday) with “April in Texas: Loveliest of Flowers,” my yearly tribute to the Texas bluebonnet and to seizing the day.

The bad news is that there are twenty-five days to go.

But the other good news is that I haven’t bailed yet. Later today, I’ll post about the Wow! factor in the 1959 film epic Ben Hur, which I watched last night for the umpteenth time.

I’m even going to do a second post for Day B, right here on Writing Wranglers and Warriors.

My topic: boo-boos. I’m eminently qualified to write about them. Some I prefer to smooth over, but the most recent cries out to be memorialized.

One midnight dreary last week, when I should have been in bed but couldn’t muster the energy to climb the stairs, I decided I could muster the energy to make some Jello instant vanilla pudding.

(Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
[I am large, I contain multitudes.])*


I poured three cups of milk into a bowl, dumped powdered pudding mix into the milk, picked up Whisky, stirred twice to dissolve the lumps, and settled into my recliner to watch television and beat.

I should have known better. I did know better. But knowing better has never stopped me.

The TV’s volume was a hair too loud, and the remote control was on the table to my left, just within reach, so I reached.

The next sixty seconds whirled by so quickly I can’t recite all the details, but here are the basics:

  1. The remote fell into the pudding.
  2. I grabbed the remote out of the pudding.
  3. The remote fell back into the pudding.
  4. I grabbed the remote out of the pudding.
  5. I ran the remote to the kitchen.
  6. I tore off a length of paper towels, applied it to the remote, and pushed pudding into the spaces around the buttons. That didn’t seem the best idea, so
  7. I opened the tap and let water stream over the remote. That didn’t seem any better than Step 8, and it might have been worse, so
  8. I went back to applying paper towels.

Somewhere in the process, I realized this was an either-or situation. Either the remote was broken or it wasn’t. Anything I did from then on would have little influence on the outcome.

So I removed as much [visible] pudding as I could. I opened the battery compartment and found it dry. I set the remote back on the table beside my chair.

Two hours later, I picked up the remote, aimed at the television, and pressed a button. The channel changed. Pressed. The volume decreased. Pressed. The channel changed again.


And it’s still working.

The pudding isn’t, though. It never did. It’s gone, a casualty of the Whisky Rebellion.

And I’m not sorry. Too much pudding can render one large, a container of multitudes.

A confession: This is the first time I’ve told the story of the pudding and the remote. Now I’ll wait to see if the remote’s co-owner reads this post.


Walt Whitman, Song of Myself. 


My short stories are anthologized in MURDER ON WHEELS, DAY OF THE DARK, and LONE STAR LAWLESS. Read “And Justice for All” free on Mysterical-E.

I blog at M. K. Waller–Telling the Truth, Mainly and at Austin Mystery Writers. I also edit HOTSHOTS!, the Sisters in Crime Heart of Texas Chapter newsletter/blog.



15 thoughts on “Day B2: Boo-boo or, The Whisky Rebellion #AtoZChallenge

  1. You made me smile right before bed! Should get the right brain waves waving to help me sleep! Thank you! Plus, unfortunately, I can relate to this type of boo boo.


  2. Did the remote’s co-owner notice? Tell-tale pudding might give you away. Sherlockian investigation techniques would give you away in the blink of an eye. I can just see Sherlock deducing what happened…


    1. To date, the remote has not been mentioned. Sherlock doesn’t often use the remote, so he might not have noticed, or he may know everything and be biding his time for reasons only he is privy to. I hope it’s the former.


    1. Well, Abbie, it’s like this–good vision doesn’t have a chance where butterfingers are involved. But I’m glad you got a laugh out of the story. To tell another truth, I didn’t need the pudding anyway.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m amazed, too, Mike. All the little buttons should be stuck beyond repair. And by now, they may be. It’s the remote we use for network TV, so as long as I stick to Acorn and Youtube, I might never know. I had no idea a laptop would work at all after liquid is spilled on it. I hope, hope, hope I don’t acquire any first-hand experience on that subject.


  3. I just returned from Texas with Blue Bonnet seeds. My plan is to plant them in pots so I can place them in the shed in the winter. Glad your remote is still working. Sorry about the pudding I hope you didn’t have your taste buds set on that pudding.


    1. I hope your bluebonnets bloom and spread seeds as far as you want them. A month after the incident, the remote still works. I can’t imagine why, but it works.


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