disappointment is a hard pill to swallow, and of all days for things to go wrong I couldn't have picked a more perfect. Today is Friday, the thirteenth of May, a pivotal mythological day of disdain. And mine was poetic.
It's not that I didn't try to have a peaceful day or to aide things in getting better. It isn't like I really care about the myth either, as rarely has it ever in the past bothered me. And certainly I have no fear of the number thirteen, triskaidekaphobia as it is called. It actually is my favorite number. Baker's use it calling it a baker's dozen when making pastries and always having that extra donut or cookie to "test" as it were. But today, the infamous day of reckoning, my baking skills left and were replaced by anguish and anticipation and insecurity. I cooked all right, in my own juices as I kept hearing every bad thing said about me from my past echoing in my head, mocking me and poking fun at my folly, and not just the folly of poor baking skills.
I couldn't sleep because of the excitement of having special company over for dinner for their first time. As dysfunctional as my family is, the guest was forewarned and one would think it wasn't an issue. I come from an average family, they're all fucked up. So up early until eight thirty and then asleep for three and a half hours to jumping out of bed with an agenda and a plan. I prepped salad the night before and marinated chicken in buttermilk, salt and garlic. But I never made the cake, butter pecan with butterscotch frosting. I had to do it today and for the most part the process went well, only the cake wouldn't come out of the pan. A disaster it was because it was supposed to be a four layer cake and the two cakes broke apart leaving me with a crumby mess. I even made the most delicious frosting and double recipe to layer in between the cakes and cover it completely then decorate with finely chopped pecans and halves. I put a small handful of the nuts into the batter but I took too long to remove the cake from the pans. You should never let a cake cool completely in the pan you need to take it out because it will not release no matter how much Pam and flour you prepped it with. So cake came off the menu...
I had what I thought was four to five hours to shower, bake, clean up a little and stew in my own insecurity. When the cakes came out of the oven I headed for the shower knowing it only takes me as long as the cakes needed, but the shower knob broke off in my hand. I woke to find a refrigerator full of almost empty drink jugs that should have been filled, by the particular young lady whom I asked to fill them so there will be enough cold drinks to have and share with out guest. We don't have much room for ice in either fridge so I had to add ice to my list of things to do and/or get. I finally got to shower at three in the afternoon leaving me with and hour and a half tops until they arrived. I would meet him at the department store down the street and we were to rent a couple of movies for the night and get introduced to my family. Only at four he sent word that a water main had broke in town and was going to be late, significantly late if at all. We bandied back and forth and I tried to hold off dinner but people needed to eat and it was finished by eight at night. Still no sign and knowing he had his hands full I kept my distance and didn't try to fuss over the phone or text to allow him time to do what he had to do. He is but one man and he knows what he has to do. Family isn't at all tolerant where I and men are concerned. I think they think I am completely aloof to their insensitive comments and to how pathetic I appear to be in their eyes for caring about another human being. And I have the world's worst luck when it comes to dating as I have been stood up more in the last few years than I had stood people up in the twenty before. So the jokes ran amok all evening and the innuendos and the smirks and the hushed tones and finally, the queries. It was bad enough he wasn't going to make it but to be grilled as to if I heard from him every fifteen minutes was too much for me. I felt like a trapped animal and forced into this bad scenario where everyone sees the ending of the film where the poor baboon gets shot for going insane except the poor baboon. I was the baboon.
Now most people would wonder why I cared so much. Few will even concern themselves with the details of what they feel I should do or not and I know all the inevitable possibilities and the reasons things went awry. This man worked fifteen hours and I have been sitting feeling sorry for myself, and worrying about him and missing him too, instead of just being a "together" and collected and sane individual. I have no reason to distrust him despite what the family thinks. He didn't call as late as he got in. He was tired and I know this because we talked about him not getting much sleep last night when he went in this morning. And had to pull and unexpected double shift in the hot hot sun while wishing he was in the cool house snuggled with his girl and noshing on homemade mac n cheese and garlic chicken bites.(*Note:chicken bites are a healthy alternative to friend chicken or chicken nuggets. I make them with white meat and bake them in the oven rather than deep frying the little buggers.) Fates know what he ate today and how he felt today and I can only speculate. I miss him and am okay with it now, and yet, I still feel like sobbing. I am not supposed to care for someone this much! I am the queen of mean, the bride of demonic forces, the keeper of infinite disdain and I behaved like a sixteen year old girl who's date for the junior dance couldn't make it. The disdain and tears I have are for my own stupidity in thinking things will go off without a hitch and for not dealing with the changes as they unfolded better. Lesson learned. Tonight he sleeps and may well get a good night's after the work he put in today and I will sleep away my bad feelings and attitude and tomorrow will be what it will be.~mobe's love to her all and her all to her loves.
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