“I’m sorry,” I apologized automatically. “It didn’t say anything about Crock-Pots in the picnic flyer.”
“That really goes without saying, doesn’t it?” she smiled benevolently. “I mean, this is the twenty-first century.”
I thought Crock-Pots had gone out with big hair, but I said nothing.
She added helpfully, “You can do anything in slow cookers with today’s advanced technology.”
We then went into her kitchen. With a dramatic sweep of her arms, she opened floor-to-ceiling folding doors to reveal one entire wall-sized grid of shelves containing Crock-Pots. There were six Crock-Pots across and five Crock-Pots down. It was staggering.
“Last year I did my entire Thanksgiving dinner in Crock-Pots,” she gushed. “This giant green one is my special turkey roaster. It takes about six days for a twenty-five pound turkey.”
“Oh, please,” I thought to myself. She noticed that I was looking at how each Crock-Pot was plugged into its own outlet.
“I had to have industrial-strength 440-voltage wiring installed,” she explained. “The contractor was hesitant since they only use this kind of wiring in factories where they make heavy machinery, but it was a small price to pay for real power.” I began to feel a little apprehensive.
She continued, “Last summer I had the kitchen stove removed because I never used it.” I didn’t use my stove either, but I still thought it looked appropriate in the kitchen.
Though the wall of Crock-Pots appeared ominous to me, I had to admit that some of the pots were emitting wonderful aromas. I had reached for the lid of a pot in the dessert row when the Woman Who Has Dinner Completed Every Day by Ten a.m. shrieked, “Don’t lift that lid! You’ll let all the steam out! There’s a chocolate soufflé in there.”
“Sorry,” I murmured. I was obviously way out of my depth here.
She talked on. “This light blue pot is very special. It keeps Krispy Kreme doughnuts at the perfect temperature for optimal texture.”
Suddenly, she had my full attention. “You’re really devoted to this whole concept, aren’t you?”
She blushed slightly at this. “Well,” she demurred, “I am the secretary-treasurer of the International Slow-Cookers Society. I love the group, but it’s becoming too political.”
“Political?”
“A group of troublemakers has formed over ‘high’ versus ‘low’ settings. To make matters worse, a small group has started a big fuss over dairy. I don’t know how much more we can take.”
I nodded, not really listening, because I began to think about something very important. She continued on and on, until I finally had to cut in.
“I’m sorry,” I said apologetically, “but I have to know something immediately. How much would one of those light blue crockpots cost; you know, the ones that keep the Krispy Kreme doughnuts warm?”
She smiled. “$199.95. And you also might need to rewire your kitchen.”
I smiled back with a sigh of relief. It would be worth every penny.
27
The Husband Who Spends Thirty Minutes Taking a Picture of Jasmine at Disney World
We first had the pleasure of meeting Jasmine at Disneyland, and she quickly became Caroline’s favorite princess.
Apparently, however, the Jasmine in California is not exactly like the Jasmine we met in Florida during our trip to Disney World. The Jasmine at Disney World was even more spectacular, if you know what I mean. It must be that since there is so much water in Florida, the survival of the fittest dictates that only the Jasmines with the greatest upper-body buoyancy will survive.
As we stood in line waiting to see Jasmine, we caught glimpses here and there but didn’t get to see her up close until we arrived at the front of the line. When we got there, Caroline had Jasmine sign her autograph book and then quickly assumed her place beside Jasmine for the photo.
They posed nicely for the picture. Jasmine leaned forward, giving even greater exposure. But Michael, who had the camera, didn’t move. He stood perfectly motionless, staring at Jasmine. He then sighed contentedly as if he had just achieved inner peace.
I said, “Aren’t you going to take the picture?”
“What picture?” he said softly, keeping his eyes on Jasmine.
“The one of Caroline and Jasmine.”
“A picture of Jasmine?” he said, turning to me wide-eyed.
“Well, of course,” I said impatiently.
“Oh, for God’s sakes, I’ll do that right now,” he said, running up close to get the shot.
I could tell he had the camera aimed a little high, so I yelled, “Try to get all of Caroline in the picture.”
“Who?”
“Caroline.”
“I don’t know who you mean.”
“Caroline, your daughter.”
“Oh, yeah, right.”
We all stood there waiting. Finally I said, “What is taking you so long?”
He kept staring into the camera.
I said, “Michael, are you going to take the picture?”
He kept staring into the camera.
“Michael!” I yelled.
He finally turned to me. “Did you ask me a question?”
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
“Are you going to take a picture of Caroline and Jasmine?”
“A picture of Jasmine,” he said softly, with a faraway look in his eyes.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said.
An attendant who was monitoring the line said to me, “Don’t worry, this happens all the time. At least your husband doesn’t mind having your daughter in the picture. A lot of times they only want Jasmine.”
She continued. “In fact, we have a lot of dads who come through the line all by themselves. They leave their wife and kids in Frontierland and then run full out over here to Adventureland for another look at Jasmine. In fact,” she said, motioning to a guy sprinting up to the end of the line, “here comes one now.”
The man rushed up to the end of the line and then leaned over, clutching his knees and gasping for air.
“See what I mean?” she said to me.
I rolled my eyes and turned back to Michael. “Will you just take the picture?”
“Just one more minute,” he said impatiently.
Finally, we all heard the click.
“Thank goodness,” I said. “Now can we get out of here? If we hurry, we can make it to the Pirates of the Caribbean before our FASTPASS expires.”
“You want to leave Jasmine?” he asked, astonished.
Caroline and I began walking away. After we’d gone about fifty feet, I noticed that Michael wasn’t with us.
I looked back and saw him leaning against a wall. His face was glowing as if he had just returned from Mount Tabor after witnessing the transfiguration of Jesus.
Caroline ran back. “Dad!” she hollered. “We’re going now.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him away.
When they caught up to me, I said to him, “Do you need some oxygen?”
He looked relieved. “Do they have oxygen around here?” he asked, sitting down on a bench and wiping the sweat off his forehead.
“Oh, please,” I said sarcastically, but thinking to myself that it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
After we arrived at the Pirates of the Caribbean and had been standing in line for a few minutes, Michael said, “You know, I’ve been thinking that we need a meeting place in case we get separated from one another. In case all of a sudden, you two look around and I’m not there. And I was just thinking, how about if we designate Jasmine as our meeting place?”
Well, as they say, the Magic Kingdom has something for everyone.
28
The Woman Who Receives Martha Stewart’s E-Mail “Thought for the Day” and Is Too Scared to Delete It
My friend Michelle caught up with me while I was picking up Caroline from school one day. She said, “You look exhausted. Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’ve had such
a busy week.”
“What’s been going on?”
“Well, I’ve been receiving Martha Stewart’s ‘Thought for the Day’ on my e-mail and I’m having a hard time keeping up.”
“Why?”
“Because on Monday the thought for the day was to spray your shoe racks with a jasmine-clover-scented oil. I had to go to five places before I finally found oil with the correct percentages of jasmine and clover. That took up Monday and some of Tuesday. Then on Tuesday the thought for the day was to rip out the tiles in your bathroom and replace them with painted cracked-eggshell tiles that you make yourself. By the time I returned the jackhammer I had rented from Home Depot, it was almost ten p.m. on Thursday. So then I got behind on the Wednesday and Thursday thoughts for the day and started those on Friday. But it has just escalated. I’m so behind now that I’ll be doing the fall projects she suggests sometime in early March.”
My friend looked perplexed. “Why can’t you just ignore the thought for the day, or delete them?”
I said quietly, “I don’t think Martha would like that.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes. Just click ‘unsubscribe’ on the bottom of the e-mail.”
Again I said quietly, “I actually looked for that link, but there isn’t one. Like I said, I don’t think Martha would like it.”
“Oh, you’re hopeless,” she said as she walked away.
She obviously didn’t realize who I was up against. For many years now Martha has been determined to raise the standards of America’s homes, and has been pretty persistent about achieving that goal. And who knows what she picked up in prison. Frankly, I was scared to death of what would happen if I did delete one of her thoughts for the day, let alone try to unsubscribe.
Weeks went by where I was unable to even eat during the day because I was so busy cleaning out my rain gutters with a Clorox solution followed by a spritz of lemon. I exhausted myself from making Polish pastries with names I couldn’t pronounce. Squaring off the bedsheets took most of one afternoon (and irritated the cat, who was trying to sleep).
But then a little piece of luck came my way: a virus invaded my PC and wiped out my entire computer. I happily reunited with my family that evening. I was surprised at how much Caroline had grown. Michael looked as if he had gained weight, probably since he hadn’t been eating my cooking. And then, even though it was the middle of April, we all exchanged Christmas gifts. They gave me scented oil, but unfortunately, it did not have the correct percentages of jasmine and clover.
Later that evening after they had gone to bed, I poured the oil down the drain. I just couldn’t risk having Martha find out.
29
The Babysitter Who Is Better at Everything Than You Are
I used to be a fairly popular person. But the day I went back to work and Jill came to live with us, that all began to change.
The first time I noticed this was when I received a baby shower invitation for a neighbor with Jill’s name prominently placed on the front of the card, and my name scribbled on the back as an afterthought. I thought it was odd.
The next week I took a few hours off work and walked into Caroline’s third-grade class to volunteer. As I came in the door, all the children in the class and the teacher looked up expectantly and then I watched their faces fall as they saw it was me, and not Jill. One little snot-nosed kid said sweetly, “Mrs. Perry, when will Jill come back to see us?” “Oh, fine,” I thought. “I could be out enjoying lunch with a friend, but no, I’m here to report on Jill’s whereabouts.” Ignoring his question, I pointed out all the spelling errors in his report on Eleanor Roosevelt, which made me feel better about myself because I am an excellent speller and he isn’t.
At Caroline’s ninth birthday party, when Jill taught the girls to knit a striped pair of gloves with fingers alternating in fuchsia and purple, I asked one of the moms if she had read any good books. “Oh, I forgot you were here!” she replied. “I was just listening to Jill discuss French literature with the girls.”
Another mom walked up. “I didn’t know Louis XIV used to give speeches on horticulture,” she said in a shocked voice. “And I graduated from Oxford. Jill really knows her French history.”
Another mom chimed in. “Well, the other afternoon during the break at soccer practice, Jill went out and fixed the transmission on my car. We’ve had that car in to seven different mechanics, and none of them have been able to do what Jill did.”
Another mom said, “Jill gave me a great stock tip and now I’m fifteen thousand dollars richer than I was last week at this time.”
Finally, one of the moms noticed that I was feeling left out. She said, “Lauren, share with everyone your exciting news from last week.”
“Oh,” I said modestly, “it was nothing.”
“No, really, tell everyone.”
“Okay,” I said. “Did any of you know that I was able to eat dinner one evening last week without spilling on myself?”
They all looked at each other.
Another mom broke into the conversation. “Jill showed me how to fix my own computer. And,” she said importantly, “Jill is having lunch with me next week.”
Everyone’s eyes grew large.
“She is?” asked one of the moms. “How did you manage that?”
“Well, during the reception after Jill unveiled her latest sculpture in the Castle Rock Town Square, I asked her if maybe we could have lunch, and she said ‘Sure.’ ”
“Wow,” one of the other moms whispered. “Lunch with Jill!”
One by one the other moms quickly began asking, “Can I come, too?” “Can I?” “Please, can I?”
“No,” said the favored one. “It’s just going to be Jill and me. And that’s it. I asked first.”
The group looked crestfallen.
The preferentially treated mom whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “She’s going to give me the formula she uses for cleaning the garage floor.”
The group was aghast.
Another mom said wistfully, “I hear that when she’s done cleaning the garage floor, she follows with Pledge floor wax.”
The group murmured its admiration.
I decided to change the subject. “Time for Caroline to open presents.”
Another mom said, “Lauren, do you mind if I have the leftover paper? Jill showed me how to wallpaper a bedroom using nothing but used wrapping paper.”
“Fine,” I shouted. “Take it.”
No one noticed my irritation.
“Mrs. Perry,” said one of Caroline’s guests, “can I have another piece of the cake that Jill made from scratch? It was wonderful.”
I slapped a piece of cake on her plate. A mom said, “Isn’t that cake the incredible Sacher torte, from the famous Hotel Sacher in Vienna?”
Jill nodded.
I looked around. Then I cleared my throat and announced, “I made a tater-tot hotdish last week.”
No one said anything. Everyone was crowding around Jill, asking her for the torte recipe.
Oh, well. At least I can spell better than some third grader.
30
The Husband Who Doesn’t Notice When His Wife Redecorates the Living and Dining Rooms
After our annual Christmas party last year, I told Michael we needed to redecorate our living and dining rooms.
“I’m tired of this boring beige,” I complained in my whiniest, most irritating voice. Michael, very familiar with this voice, usually capitulates immediately when he hears it. That’s why I was surprised when he balked.
“Are you crazy? This place looks great the way it is. You can do whatever you want, but don’t involve me.” I took this as a green light.
The next day, I swung into action. I asked an interior designer friend to help me make a list of what to do.
“I have a great team of handymen,” she said enthusiastically. “They are very reasonable and will do anything if you provide them with pizzas. Let’s start with new carpeting in January and see if your husband noti
ces.”
It was a plan. Michael departed for his office, and the carpet truck arrived two minutes later. The new carpeting looked beautiful and I was ecstatic!
Caroline gasped when she came home from school. I explained that she shouldn’t exactly lie to Daddy outright if he asked her if this was new carpeting, but told her not to volunteer any information. I thought this would be good training for her own future relationships.
Michael arrived home, never even glancing into the living room, and asked, “Do I smell pizza?”
“We had some for lunch,” I murmured, kissing him on the cheek.
In February, I had the couch reupholstered. It was gone for a week, but Michael didn’t go into the living room.
In March, I had wanted to paint the walls, but the designer thought Michael might notice the smell, so we sneaked in a new fireplace screen. No comments from Michael.
In April, I found a great deal on a giant mirror for the dining room. It was beautiful.
May was warm enough to open all the windows, so while Michael took Caroline and her friends to the community swimming pool, I painted the walls. They looked great.
In June, I talked Michael into a romantic weekend in Vail. Caroline’s babysitter supervised the crown molding installation in the dining room. It was perfect.
July brought a new dining table. I decided to go with a round, glass-topped table to replace the wooden, rectangular one. We had dinner on it the next night, but I just used candles, so no one noticed.
I was really enjoying this.
Over the next few months, new chairs, curtains, and lamps were changed out for the old ones.
While we went out of state for Michael’s high school reunion in October, a gorgeous new chandelier was installed in the dining room. I felt my renovation was complete.
In mid-November, a flyer came from our TV cable company offering more sports channels. I thought it would be a nice surprise for Michael. The cable company installed the new channels, and when Michael arrived home from work, we had a football game on.
“Something is different here! I can just feel it,” he said.
The Woman Who Is Always Tan and Has a Flat Stomach Page 8