Front left burner and other single man ramblings

Living alone has its rules. No one writes them. But the lonely understand them. Like using the front left burner on the stove. It's the only one us guys who live alone use.
No need to dirty up the other three. And no need to cook more than one item at a time. After all, it's just you eating.
Why the front left?
Simple. It's closer. Don't have to reach for it. It's nearest the microwave and sink. The other three burners are strictly off limits, reserved for when the kids come over if I have to muster something beyond the scope of one pan.
Most food in a single man house is pre-packaged. Cereal. Milk. Eggs. But eggs are not dealt with more than once a week or so.
Bread. peanut butter. (Can't ever find the original butter knife, so lots of those peanut buttery knives end up in the water cup in the sink for holding until enough gather for a real dish washing session.)
Dishes are done once a week, or quickly one plate as soon as it's dirtied. Either you wash the plate right after eating, or it will become part of a pile to tackle on the weekend. Or, scratch that, weekends are too busy. Maybe on a Monday night. Or a Friday afternoon, just before the kids come over on their weekend. Ya gotta straighten the house in time for the kids to clutter it up.
Their clutter is annoying. Mine is comforting.

Bathroom visitor

I thought I lived alone.

But one day, in the bathroom, I realized I wasn't the only one in there.

An 8-legged intruder hung from the ceiling.

Normally, arachnid ridding is a ritual in a household.

 But I don't live with other humans. So, not wanting to be entirely alone, I let the spider live.

Sure, I can kill it when I'm ready. On my time. I don't have to comply with the standard of snuffing the spider just because someone is freaked out. Actually, it's okay with me that I'm never alone. That I have a guard over the toilet. And the spider doesn't seem to mind, either. Maybe it's grateful for my willingness to let it live. Maybe it doesn't know how lucky it is to live in a spider friendly house.

The ants on the counter are another matter. They have to go...

Making a big splash

Two-year-olds provide their own entertainment for themselves, and for those of us with more birthdays than they.

Not realizing he had an audience, my lil' tyke squatted by the puddle, stick in hand. He smacked the water like Moses parting the Red Sea.

Apparently, the maneuver was intriguing. He smacked the water again, watching the ripple effect. Then he struck in staccato, not waiting for the ripples to subside. Eight or nine whacks.

Then he stood, moved to another side of the puddle, stick in hand. He squatted and repeated the aforementioned procedure.

After his third session, I giggled. He looked up, detected. Then he turned back to the water and spoke on the puddle's behalf: "Ouch! What did you do that for?" he said, imitating the water's supposed reaction to his striking.