It doesn't take much to make Mrs. Jonesborough feel good about herself. Dumping a quivering can-shaped blob into her skillet means that she is adding something special to what would have been ordinary fare were it not for her culinary talents. Dumping is what invariably occurs. When the directions say "add gradually and stir," she dumps. Listen my children and you shall hear the gluck-blick-gloosh-plop as yet another tubular mess gathers air, slides out of the can, and hits the pan.
I swear, I was dumping a can of cream of mushrooms over chicken in a crock pot when I read it. I haven't been so mortified since reading Jeff Foxworthy's "if your coffee table is a cable spool, you might be a redneck" while my feet rested on my cable spool coffee table.
And Myrtle Bailey the baptodisterian was my Aunt Pat to a tee! I was raised in close proximity to plastic-covered furniture and bathrooms where the toilet paper was hidden under a doll's dress and every bar of soap rested obediently in its covered box.