I’ve mentioned my unhealthy love of popcorn before, I believe.  I have spent days (not in a row) wherein I ate nothing but popcorn, for love of its crunchy, salty deliciousness.  Today at work, Nikolai sent me an IM.

Do you need me to do anything?

No. Yes!  How about you make me some popconr?

(my fingers get overexcited and I misspell)

*silence from Nikolai*

Thinking he had taken it as a joke, which it was, sortof, I thought nothing of it and finished my day and went home.  Through the door I came, and smelled the awesome aroma of popcorn on the stove, heard the pop! pop! pop. . .Pop? of the corn asploding.  Ahhhhh.  He did it for me.  I took over the next few panfuls, filling up the brown paper bag sitting at the ready.  Nick did the salting.  I was finishing the last pan when I heard a triumphant cackle, padding feet, and the scrapey crunchy noise of popcorn being ushered into a plastic receptacle.  I heard his feet padding away behind me as he continued to cackle with glee.

He had filled a pitcher with popcorn.

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