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yet more fanfic - caution: contents under pressure
This counts as word count, damnit. Because I say it does. My words, my rules.
Also - dear makers of semagic: your tab order blows. Fix that and you'd have a pretty good client. Not all of us use the mouse you know.
Summary: "If it's not interesting, it's my task to make it interesting. That's the challenge. Once I figured that out it was a lot easier." More ridiculous fluff, and once again about food. I am capable of writing other things, honestly, but my brain just isn't going there.
"I shopped." House's expression was not unlike that of a six year old boy who had discovered the delights of the neighborhood swamp and couldn't wait to share it, and Wilson wondered what handful of garter snakes and leeches he was about to have dropped in his lap this time.
"You shopped." He tried to keep his voice level, and it mostly worked. "You hate shopping, unless it involves electronics, music, or books."
"Not my fault. Groceries are boring."
"Not everything is on this earth just to entertain you, you know." As soon as the statement came out of his mouth, Wilson winced: he sounded exactly like his mother.
"That's really the problem, isn't it? And you sound like your mother."
How does he do that? That line of speculation was put firmly aside for the moment, and he turned toward the cupboards to inspect the aftermath.
"See, I figure this." House leaned against the kitchen counter with an indolent smirk on his face. "If it's not interesting, it's my task to make it interesting. That's the challenge. Once I figured that out it was a lot easier."
"Makes sense. You know, your life would be exponentially easier if you applied that to clinic duty? Cuddy would certainly be happier."
"As the great philosopher McCoy once said, 'I'm a doctor, Jimmy, not a miracle worker'. And since when is it my task to make Cuddy happy? She'd never buy it."
That was true, at least. Wilson chuckled and peered at the row of tall cans lined up haphazardly on the shelf. Whipped cream, chocolate whipped cream, salad dressing ... "Uh, House, what is this?"
"Pancake batter in a spray can. There's peanut butter and jelly in a spray can there, too."
"And this is ..."
"Cheese in a spray can."
"For some values of 'cheese', I guess. Don't tell me you only bought food in aerosol cans?" The horror in his voice was unmistakable.
"Of course not."
"Thank god."
"Just the fillings."
He couldn't have heard that right. He couldn't have heard just the fillings. He turned around. "Uh, what?"
The indolent expression had grown up while his back was turned and was now a fully-fledged smirk. "See, I was thinking. We're doctors, right?"
"Yes..."
"Busy people. So what we need is a streamlined food delivery system. We have our fillings, and -" He reached past Wilson to open the fridge door with a flourish. "we have things to fill. Flat things."
Wilson's mouth fell open.
Flour tortillas. Sliced processed cheese. Iceberg lettuce-
House followed Wilson's gaze. "You can tear the leaves off the lettuce and then fill them. It turns out flat. That's for you, of course - you like vegetables. There's cookies in the cupboard, crackers, pop-tarts, bread, and I even got some of that hippie fruit leather crap you like. That's actually pretty decent with the peanut butter, but the cheese doesn't work as well." He shrugged. "Food in two minutes or less. Cool, huh?"
"I ... I honestly don't know what to say." Until he'd met House, Wilson had always figured that was just an expression. House had proved him wrong within the first month. "Yes I do. Only you could think of something like this."
"I know." House smirked and shooed him out of the kitchen. "Sit down. I'm making dinner. You want peanut butter and jelly or chocolate whipped cream and marshmallow fluff with your graham crackers?"
Also - dear makers of semagic: your tab order blows. Fix that and you'd have a pretty good client. Not all of us use the mouse you know.
Summary: "If it's not interesting, it's my task to make it interesting. That's the challenge. Once I figured that out it was a lot easier." More ridiculous fluff, and once again about food. I am capable of writing other things, honestly, but my brain just isn't going there.
"I shopped." House's expression was not unlike that of a six year old boy who had discovered the delights of the neighborhood swamp and couldn't wait to share it, and Wilson wondered what handful of garter snakes and leeches he was about to have dropped in his lap this time.
"You shopped." He tried to keep his voice level, and it mostly worked. "You hate shopping, unless it involves electronics, music, or books."
"Not my fault. Groceries are boring."
"Not everything is on this earth just to entertain you, you know." As soon as the statement came out of his mouth, Wilson winced: he sounded exactly like his mother.
"That's really the problem, isn't it? And you sound like your mother."
How does he do that? That line of speculation was put firmly aside for the moment, and he turned toward the cupboards to inspect the aftermath.
"See, I figure this." House leaned against the kitchen counter with an indolent smirk on his face. "If it's not interesting, it's my task to make it interesting. That's the challenge. Once I figured that out it was a lot easier."
"Makes sense. You know, your life would be exponentially easier if you applied that to clinic duty? Cuddy would certainly be happier."
"As the great philosopher McCoy once said, 'I'm a doctor, Jimmy, not a miracle worker'. And since when is it my task to make Cuddy happy? She'd never buy it."
That was true, at least. Wilson chuckled and peered at the row of tall cans lined up haphazardly on the shelf. Whipped cream, chocolate whipped cream, salad dressing ... "Uh, House, what is this?"
"Pancake batter in a spray can. There's peanut butter and jelly in a spray can there, too."
"And this is ..."
"Cheese in a spray can."
"For some values of 'cheese', I guess. Don't tell me you only bought food in aerosol cans?" The horror in his voice was unmistakable.
"Of course not."
"Thank god."
"Just the fillings."
He couldn't have heard that right. He couldn't have heard just the fillings. He turned around. "Uh, what?"
The indolent expression had grown up while his back was turned and was now a fully-fledged smirk. "See, I was thinking. We're doctors, right?"
"Yes..."
"Busy people. So what we need is a streamlined food delivery system. We have our fillings, and -" He reached past Wilson to open the fridge door with a flourish. "we have things to fill. Flat things."
Wilson's mouth fell open.
Flour tortillas. Sliced processed cheese. Iceberg lettuce-
House followed Wilson's gaze. "You can tear the leaves off the lettuce and then fill them. It turns out flat. That's for you, of course - you like vegetables. There's cookies in the cupboard, crackers, pop-tarts, bread, and I even got some of that hippie fruit leather crap you like. That's actually pretty decent with the peanut butter, but the cheese doesn't work as well." He shrugged. "Food in two minutes or less. Cool, huh?"
"I ... I honestly don't know what to say." Until he'd met House, Wilson had always figured that was just an expression. House had proved him wrong within the first month. "Yes I do. Only you could think of something like this."
"I know." House smirked and shooed him out of the kitchen. "Sit down. I'm making dinner. You want peanut butter and jelly or chocolate whipped cream and marshmallow fluff with your graham crackers?"
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ROTFL! Delightful!:)
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Besides, if it can't be microwaved in five minutes or less, I'm just not willing to put that much effort into it after being at work and taking care of the fuzzy beasts. ;)
Great story, definitely going on my favorites list! ;)
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Yeah, I know the feeling. *laugh*