Item number the first one: Remember that plumber that we needed last Thursday? He came this morning. Meanwhile, I had been swimming laps in the laundry room.
b) We had a very pleasant night last night, even if it was cut short. Jason didn’t get home from work until 10:30 pm, and as I was telling Kelly, I was ready for bed by 5. It took a lot to muster up the will to get things done, but I did. I only received 2 minor injuries, and both times I was able to staunch the bleeding fairly quickly. I was a busy been from 6am until 10pm, and had foolishly only taken Diet Pepsis for nourishment. When Jason came home, we started with a fresh tomato and mozzarella salad, which is one of my favourites. Jason opened the Chardonnay and I was a lost cause. We finished off the bottle with the adorable potatoes, glazed carrots and sante fe stuffed chicken. Dinner was very good, but by the time I served the chicken, I was too drunk to be hungry so I ate maybe ¼ of my chicken. Jason, of course, ate all of his, and the rest of mine. And had seconds of the potatoes. We curled up on the couch, I lost all feeling in my legs, we giggled about Jason’s work wife, and agreed to watch Moulin Rouge. I served up dessert: death my chocolate trifle. And then, when the movie was barely 1/3 of the way in, I begged to be put to bed. You can tell this was a “romantic” dinner because we had wine instead of margaritas, and because I bought pink napkins from the dollar store.
Next: Some of you may remember early in January a post I had written about my sister. Briefly put, I had baked a cake for her on Christmas Eve, didn’t charge her for it, only asked that my cake board and box be returned since I have a hard time getting them in this city, and they are overpriced. 2 weeks later, I wrote her an email reminding her that she still hadn’t returned them, she sent me back some snarky reply, and because I pointed out that this was rather mean of her, my whole family went on the offensive and sent daggers flying my way. Fast forward 2 months, and here we are, still no closer to getting my stuff back. Except that my mother suddenly remembers that she had lent me something that she needed back, so she sent me a snarky email requesting it. Jason, who filters all mail from my family, apparently wrote her back with a list of things of mine that they have in their possession, including books, a purse, a wrap, my wedding hairpiece, shoes….Anyhow, today the cake board and box got dropped off, so in a gesture of goodwill, I sent my mother’s item back to her, even though I still haven’t received any other of my things. Upon closer inspection, I realize that my sister never wiped off the cake board. For the past 2 months, the icing has grown mould. It’s disgusting and has to be thrown out. Now, I occasionally bake for other people, and even though some customers have been complete strangers, I have existed successfully on the honour system until now. Moral of the story: when it comes to family, always charge a deposit.
4. Last week I sent Jason out to get subs at 3 am. For once, I did not go with him, and this is pretty rare. Probably my back was too sore for a car ride, but the point is, you’d think Subway is a pretty safe place, and that you can send your husband there and be confident that he will return. Not so. Well, he did return of course, but it was touch and go for a while. I don’t know if it was the disheveled bed head that was working for him, or if he just looked mighty good compared to all the truckers who normally stop for subs at 3 am, but apparently the ‘sandwich artist’ or whatever they’re called had the hots for my husband. What you have to understand is that I am the least jealous person in the world, and I think it’s funny…Jason, however, is so easily embarrassed (and usually oblivious) that he would rather die than have a woman flirt with him. So this chick was all like “What are you doing tonight?” and being quite forward while she was putting mayo on MY sub, until Jason finally blurted out “I’m married!” Poor guy. I think he’s off subs for a little while.
In conclusion, Madame La Dropsky strikes again: Jason insisted I tell this story. It’s really not funny. I had made Italian chicken in the crockpot, and Jason was served it up on Sunday night. I had to send him back because he didn’t give me enough juice. We were eating quietly, watching Stuck on You, when suddenly my plate completely upended itself, spilling the entire contents (and all that extra juice) on my lap. The kafuffle caught Jason’s eye, and he was almost laughing before he realized that said juice was scalding me. We got the chicken, potatoes, and carrots off me in a hurry, but all that extra juice soaked into my pants (I was wearing my new jogging pants, which apparently are ultra-absorbent) and my calf and ankle were burning up. Anyway, when Jason got me a new plateful, I took it dry, no juices at all. And the jogging pants are now stained permanently, it seems. But the burn blisters are healing nicely, and I’ve certainly learned my lesson. Italians are evil.