Yesterday we all received an email from our over-worked under-paid building “mom”. There is a cookout at work tomorrow and she has selflessly made all of the arrangements. This is all part of her job description but still. (Well, arguably part of her job. I am certainly not privy to what her job description is, just that she does it well.) Anyway, she works hard and we are not always a very responsive bunch. We are geeeeeeks, roight? Yes. But we are also parents and sons and daughters, et al, and we have some idea about what it takes to throw a party. Her request? That each team provide a dessert. Yes, that’s one measly dessert. Between approximately six people. How hard can that be? It was a request that was well within reason and yet, I panicked just a wee little bit. Food? Dessert? I wondered who on my very geeeeeeeky geriatric-type team would field this one because, even though I enjoy being the Chief Cook and Bottle Washer at the Landfill, I have no food energy left this week. It has to do with my own personal brand of jet-setting, the kind that involves schlepping up and down the I75 SUV Speedway in some dusty old land vee-hickle with a potty in the back made out of a drywall bucket and a seat.
Yeah, I am a little stressed. Menu planning and laundry and kitchen reno stuff and work and flotsam, jetsam, and cosmic debris. Today, I felt a
bit lot (bit lot?) like that light in the video down there. Blink. Menus? Blink. Laundry? Blink. Packing? Blink. Blink-blink. Blink-blink-blink-blink. Blink.
And so. One of my loverly team members took the lead on foraging for a dessert for our party. We went off on a “team bonding exercise” this afternoon to the nearest grokkery store (the Saline Rd. Meijer) in search of a dessert. I drove the getaway vee-hickle, my loverly old Dogha. It was in the low 90s today and I was panicked at the very idea of going inside yet another grokkery store, so I tried to hand my friends some cash. “Here, I don’t care what you buy. I’ll stay out here and watch the car, so we can leave the windows down.” They talked me down off that particular ledge and we ended up purchasing some cookies, figuring that was easier than cake or pie, which somebody would have to cut.
Y’all, do not worry your pretty little heads. I am just kvetching. I am boomerang woman at the moment so I’m kvetching about that. If I am home without anything to do [besides domestic drudgery] on a Sunday, I kvetch about that. Y’know. I walked over by the stove just now, to stir the lasagne sauce I’m taking up north and guess what? That blasted blinkin’ light blinked totally ON!!! After an hour or so. Maybe my karma changed or something. I can’t figure it out.