Fourth Floor ... Home Decor ...

It was my father's birthday and we were all convening at my parents' apartment for a birthday feast. The Husband wasn't feeling well. Slight fever, glassy eyes and general malaise. But he insisted on coming. "We don't see your parents often and I should go. Besides, your mom is making crème brulée." This is The Husband's favourite dessert and my mother makes it for him every time he comes over. There's no question she loves him more than me. So I drugged The Husband and took him with me to visit my parents.

I guide him into the elevator at my parents' building. He sways a little and I catch him before he tips over. I'm beginning to think this was a bad idea. I reach around him and push the button for my parents' floor. The doors open and I turn left, walking to the first apartment which is my parents' unit. They usually leave the door unlocked so I give a quick rap on the door and open it.

I should have clued in right away but, as you've all figured out by now, I'm a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

I swing open the door and I immediately notice that they have new furniture. "Lovely!" And they've changed the wallpaper border. And look, the curtains are different. "Aren't those nice?" I say to The Husband. From the front hall, you can peer through the kitchen into the dining room and I see that there are people sitting at the dining room table. They have company, I think to myself. Who would be visiting? Everyone we know lives in Sudbury. Then a couple of the people get up from the table and come over to us. I give my best "company smile" and get ready to greet my parents' friends ... then it suddenly hits me.

I have the wrong apartment.

OH. MY. GOD!

The last two minutes suddenly start flashing through my mind. Instead of pushing the floor for my parents' apartment, I had pressed four, which is the floor we live on. Not six, where my parents live.

The people in 407 are smiling at this point, because they've already clued in to my mistake. And we all start laughing. Except The Husband, who is looking very confused. I apologize profusely, telling them my mistake. They laugh, saying it's no problem "Nice to meet you!"

As I'm guiding The Husband back to the elevator, he asks "We're not staying for dinner?"

My Apologies to Julia Child

I can't cook. There. I said it.

I'm not sure why The Husband married me, but I do know why I married him.

I made him dinner for our first date. I thought I'd try something new and make deep-fried ravioli as an appetizer. My thinking was that the ravioli would cook in the hot oil and therefore it didn't need to be boiled first. So, in my infinite wisdom, I plopped raw, frozen ravioli into the oil and deep-fried it.

They looked lovely. Really! I arranged them all pretty on a plate with a small dish of marinara sauce for dipping. The Husband is all excited. He's a born-again bachelor and hasn't had a home-cooked meal in a while. He's really looking forward to this. "Looks great!" he exclaims, and digs right in.

To his credit, his expression didn't change much. He smiled and made the appropriate yummy noises while I watched him enjoy his ravioli. He was obviously making an effort to chew and this started to disturb me. So I had a bite.

It was horrible!

Each ravioli was hard and rubbery. Chewing was a chore and my jaw was aching before I finished the first bite.

I was mortified! Here I am trying to impress this guy and I've made the most inedible, tasteless dinner imaginable. I wanted to crawl under the table and die! I could feel my bottom lip start to tremble. My eyes began to well up with tears. Great! Now I'm going to make it worse and cry.

I jump up and grab the plate, apologizing profusely. "I'm throwing them out." But he laughs. "It's fine!" he says. He takes my hand, pulls the plate from it, sets it down in front of him and ... God bless this man! ... ate every one of those raviolis. "Got any more?" I think I fell in love with him right at that moment.

Our 7-year anniversary is coming up. We're planning to go out for a nice steak dinner.

"Or we could just stay home and have some deep-fried ravioli," he quips.

Holy Sheet!

We had plans to visit the kids one evening. The Husband had the day off and went over early, bringing our laundry with him ... might as well right? I was driving over after work. He phones me at the office.

TH: "Bring the bed sheets with you."

Me: "OK. But leave me a note cuz I know I'll forget."

I walk in the door and there's a note on the hallway mirror: SHEETS in huge letters. Good one. I chuckle.

Still giggling, I go to the washroom (I really gotta pee). On the bathroom vanity: SHEETS. Taped on the toilet seat - SHEETS, on the shower curtain - SHEETS, inside the tub - SHEETS. I'm laughing really hard now and I REALLY gotta pee, so I flip up the toilet lid - SHEETS.

I start wandering through the apartment. On every surface there's a SHEETS sign. The tv, sofa, coffee table, kitchen table, every chair, curtains, windows, bed. Inside cupboard doors, fridge, freezer, microwave, every drawer of my dresser.

For about two weeks I was finding SHEETS signs in random places!

Brown-Eyed Girl

I think I stood in the boob line two or three times when I was created. Some may say this is a blessing. Me ... I think not. It was humiliating as a pre-teen, frustrating as a teen and just down-right angering as an adult.

So I decided to down-size the girls.

I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed about this. In fact, I openly talked about it. Which would invariably make the person I was conversing with quickly glance down, then immediately look back up and make eye contact, glance down, then up, down, up ... blush, smile awkwardly and we'd continue our conversation.

My gay friends sent me the most wonderful bouquet while I was recovering. A beautiful assortment of colourful flowers, with two giant white mums in the centre, on which were pinned pink pipe cleaner nipples and two bandaids! Loved it!!

By far, the best reaction was when I went to see one of my friends. Her brother answered the door, looked me straight in the face and said "Hey! You have brown eyes. I never noticed that before."

Ministry of Health/Law

Came home from work late last night. Puppy was really excited to see me.

I play with him, ruffle his ears and scratch him under his chin (he really likes that). In my best high-pitched-get-the-dog-excited voice I say: "Guess who's coming over Saturday? Aunty Sue is coming over Saturday! Yes she is! Aunty Sue is coming. And what does Aunty Sue always bring? Cookies!! Yes she does! Yes she does!"

The Husband mutters, "Sounds like a litigation vaccination."

"WHAT??!" (you know, some days it's really hard to keep up with the voices in his head).

"You know ... anti-virus ... anti-sue ... litigation vaccination."

Groan.

And even as I type this, M'Licious is reading over my shoulder. "Are you sure he doesn't smoke dope?"

Good question!

Car fall down, go boom

Back in my Apartment-Dwelling-Days, BJ and I would regularly attend Bingo. She'd pick me up after work and we'd go over to the hall (which was beside the Welfare office by the way!)

On one such evening, BJ shows up and buzzes up to the apartment. "Can you come down? My car died!" And sure enough it had. Right at the entrance to the driveway so that no one could get in or out. We're both frantic. Not only is the car blocking the driveway, but we're going to be late for bingo!! Clearly we have our priorities straight.

I call The Husband on my cell and tell him what's happening. He has me do a few things -- turn the engine ("What does it sound like?"), check the gauges ("Is there gas?"). You know ... guy stuff. All to no avail. I'm panicking now. "What do I do? We're blocking the entrance. People are coming home from work. There's a line up!"

He starts using his Serious Voice and talks to me very slowly and very calmly the way people do when they want to impart something very important without causing panic.

"OK. I want you to listen carefully. Go upstairs to the spare room. You know where I store all the automotive stuff? On the second shelf is a box of rags. I want you to take a rag from the box. Then go to the kitchen and get one of the lighters. (I don't know where he's going with this, but my anxiety level is going up exponentially). Go back downstairs to the car. Do you see where the cap is? (I look. "Driver's side") Good. Carefully unscrew the gas cap. Now take the rag and gently stuff it inside the gas tank. Now, remember the lighter I told you to get? Take the lighter and light the rag on fire (I'm thinking to myself, this seems really dangerous). Now you might want to step back cuz there's gonna be a really big boom."

Before I can ask him "Are you sure??" (don't laugh, I was really going to ask him that! I was thinking this was some kind of radical technique!) he starts laughing.

He's a pooh head!