Monday, September 29, 2008

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.


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?"


Clippy Mat said...

that has got to be the funniest thing I've read in a long time. i snorted out loud.
you are insane.
yet another common trait between us.
if your mother makes creme brulee why did the cooking gene not pass to you?
seems unfair somehow.
loved this post.
two thumbs up.

Crazy Mo said...

I think the Chef Gene skips a generation. Just ask The Husband. At least I inherited the Craft Gene.

frantastic said...

Claudia Schiffer be damned - Mo's in town!