The Oatmeal
Nov. 8th, 2019 09:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
plonqI used up the last of the steel cut oats last week. Part of the reason I've been having them for breakfast recently (besides rediscovering that I like oatmeal) was to use them up. We bought them for baking and discovered later that they don't work as well as the rolled ones do for that.
This morning I cooked up a bowl of rolled oats for breakfast, and I immediately concluded that outside of baking, I actually prefer the steel-cut oats. I guess I'll have to pick some up when we are shopping this weekend.
I've started work on a new story recently, though whether I finish it is up in the air. I have it all plotted out in my head, but when I ran the premise by my editor, she pointed out that one of the central plot points plays into a trope that might be offensive to some folks. I don't think the summary I gave her properly conveyed how that plot point is being handled, but I see her point, and I'm mulling on ways to keep the element but disentangle it from the trope.
"I dunno." The wolf shrugged and took another sip of tea. "I saw him with boss-man and what's-her-name from HR." He scratched his chin and reached his other hand back to perch his tea precariously close to the edge of his desk. "He was wearing kind of a douchey shirt, so I'm guessing he's probably going to SAP." He started to turn back to his workstation and made a show of pausing partway around. "And even though you're pretending you don’t care, I know you're dying to find out. He's a slotter."
"He's a ... what?" demanded the otter. The snow leopard's ears perked up at that as well, and he half-turned his head to pay closer attention to the conversation.
"A slotter," said the wolf smugly. "You know, one of those boutique hybrids you hear about in the news. Half otter and half snow leopard."
"Bullshit," said Giblet flatly.
The wolf gave a palms-up shrug and wrinkled his nose. "I seen what I seen. I expect an apology when you eat your words later." He rubbed his temple and grimaced before turning his chair back to face his workstation and tea.
Plonq sighed, pulled off his phone headset, grabbed his glasses and rolled back his chair. The dumpy snow leopard rose, stepped around the edge of his desk and peeked over the top of his cubicle. He slid his glasses a bit further down his muzzle and peered in the direction of the elevator. His tail thrashed a couple of times, and he grunted.
"Huh," was all he said as he removed his spectacles again and lumbered back to his chair. Giblet watched as the feline put his glasses back on the desk and reached for his headset again, but it quickly became clear that the snow leopard was not going to elaborate on this reaction.
"So?" he prompted.
"It's a slotter," the other replied. Giblet tried to read the cat's body language, but if Plonq was pulling his leg, he was putting on a very good poker muzzle while doing it.
"You both suck," said the otter. "You can't get a hybrid from a snow leopard an otter."
This morning I cooked up a bowl of rolled oats for breakfast, and I immediately concluded that outside of baking, I actually prefer the steel-cut oats. I guess I'll have to pick some up when we are shopping this weekend.
I've started work on a new story recently, though whether I finish it is up in the air. I have it all plotted out in my head, but when I ran the premise by my editor, she pointed out that one of the central plot points plays into a trope that might be offensive to some folks. I don't think the summary I gave her properly conveyed how that plot point is being handled, but I see her point, and I'm mulling on ways to keep the element but disentangle it from the trope.
"I dunno." The wolf shrugged and took another sip of tea. "I saw him with boss-man and what's-her-name from HR." He scratched his chin and reached his other hand back to perch his tea precariously close to the edge of his desk. "He was wearing kind of a douchey shirt, so I'm guessing he's probably going to SAP." He started to turn back to his workstation and made a show of pausing partway around. "And even though you're pretending you don’t care, I know you're dying to find out. He's a slotter."
"He's a ... what?" demanded the otter. The snow leopard's ears perked up at that as well, and he half-turned his head to pay closer attention to the conversation.
"A slotter," said the wolf smugly. "You know, one of those boutique hybrids you hear about in the news. Half otter and half snow leopard."
"Bullshit," said Giblet flatly.
The wolf gave a palms-up shrug and wrinkled his nose. "I seen what I seen. I expect an apology when you eat your words later." He rubbed his temple and grimaced before turning his chair back to face his workstation and tea.
Plonq sighed, pulled off his phone headset, grabbed his glasses and rolled back his chair. The dumpy snow leopard rose, stepped around the edge of his desk and peeked over the top of his cubicle. He slid his glasses a bit further down his muzzle and peered in the direction of the elevator. His tail thrashed a couple of times, and he grunted.
"Huh," was all he said as he removed his spectacles again and lumbered back to his chair. Giblet watched as the feline put his glasses back on the desk and reached for his headset again, but it quickly became clear that the snow leopard was not going to elaborate on this reaction.
"So?" he prompted.
"It's a slotter," the other replied. Giblet tried to read the cat's body language, but if Plonq was pulling his leg, he was putting on a very good poker muzzle while doing it.
"You both suck," said the otter. "You can't get a hybrid from a snow leopard an otter."
