My friends, sometime the old adages are so true it’s just bloody scary. The cliché du jour is this: The more things change, the more they stay the same. Most of you know that while my chronological age suggests the backside of middle age (and a middle-aged backside), my functional age is more indicative of an incompetent toddler complete with tantrums and narcissistic demands of the highest order.
I speak of my inability to be left alone for any period of time. I continue to display a propensity toward catastrophe when left to my own devices. It seems that the minute my cooking, cleaning, errand running husband purchases a plane ticket the gods conspire to create calamity. And this time, as Rusty took off for a week long work trip, my world began to unravel. Again.
He’s done this a number of times before, leaving me adrift in foreign lands. But this is Canada, my homeland where things are easy, right? And it would’ve been had I just stayed in bed. It began with water, ended with ice with some lasagna thrown in the middle.
I’d been fending for myself for about 5 days when things went seriously awry. I was down 7 pounds thanks to dinners of crackers, yogurt, and chardonnay (anyone looking for a reliable diet this is it. I call it the Dependence Plan), but my healthy consumption of filtered water remained intact, that is, until I somehow dropped part of the Brita jug cover into a very full garbage disposal.
After a protracted rooting about with kitchen tongs I decided a new jug was the answer. Of course I forgot to buy replacement filters. Back to the store. The filters I bought, all 3 of them, for some reason didn’t work. The water cascaded down the sides leaving me with water akin to what one finds in a community pool.
My instinct was to toss the jug into the street and drive over it repeatedly with the car. Instead, I raced back to the store to beat closing time, all the way cursing the idiot at Brita who dared to make defective filters. I mean has everyone just given up in this world? How can people be so harebrained? I was so frustrated by the time I got home that I jammed filter number 4 in the jug and finally, 2 hours after I started, had a glass of clear, cool, non-chloriney water. Once rehydrated, it dawned on me that I hadn’t put the filters in right. Sweet Jaysus. Brita filter person, mea culpa. You are a genius, I’m an idiot. What kind of person with advanced education can’t figure out a water jug? Me.
The next day I decided I’d had enough of this foolishness. If he can do it, I can do it. I would breech the threshold of the forbidden cave and cook a magnificent meal. I opened the freezer and there it was, the perfect solution: a frozen lasagna. Sure, he bought it but I’d have to bring about the miracle. And miraculous it was.
The instructions said to lay the lasagna on a rack to cool. Given that I’ve been in this kitchen about 5 times in 2 years, I grabbed the first thing I saw not noticing the graceful arch of the cookie cooling rack. The minute I turned my back the whole thing flew off the counter. I launched a panicked resuscitation for the rug and my dinner but neither survived. I’m not sure which loss was more distressing.
I threw out the rug, ate another cold, hobbled together dinner, and decided to take the ‘tomorrow is a new day’ approach. The next evening I braved the kitchen again only to find a freezer full of melted food. The matter is still being debated, however, it’s possible that during the mayhem of the Lasagna Incident I left the freezer door open. I still say Rusty’s overstuffing it is to blame, but either way I had to dispose of most of the food, test the freezer, get replacement food, honestly, how much can be expected of one person?
I started out by saying things stay the same, but I seem to getting worse. What used to be amusing (Neil was considerably amused by my recent exploits) has become embarrassing. Thankfully, no one really knows how inept I am apart from you folks who I know practice discretion at all times.
I mean it’s not really my fault now is it? If you’ve been banished from the kitchen how can you be expected to take it over willy nilly? Still. This is outrageous and has to stop. No more will I be dependent on that man for my survival. For the love of god, a woman is about to take the helm of the U.S. presidency, so surely I can be commander in chief of my own home. I mean when he’s away of course, I have no desire to overthrow the current regime.
But I can tell you this: Next time he leaves I will be fully self-sufficient. Starting now, I’ll put something toward my goal every day, and when the next trip rolls around I’ll have enough saved to hire an entire staff. I call it the Independence Plan.