New Year's II - The Waiting is the Hardest Part

So we fucked up the appetizer. I decided to make it a crust-less quiche (pure laziness, but grant me a circumstantial pass - the tiny outdated kitchen in our current rental house is uninspiring…)which was the first mistake. Then I doubled the recipe and poured the concoction into a larger rectangle baking dish. The idea was to cut it up into small bite sized squares one could eat without a fork. But with all the cheese, sour cream, egg, and without the support of crust, it was too spongy.

One of my husband’s fears is inconveniencing friends. Not a bad trait. Quite nice, in fact. So when he said, “You can’t eat this without a fork and a plate,” the look in his eyes betrayed his fear that we would be responsible for creating dirty dishes for our friends, who had clearly asked us to bring an appetizer – which implies finger food.

This fear of his, along with his love of food experimentation, linked elbows and the surgery on the tart sponge squares began. There was searing, freezing, and even a blast in the microwave. I left the room. Couldn't take it. When I finally did come back in, the remains of little Frankenstein tarts slumped on the counter. We had come full circle from my earlier statement, “Let’s pick something up.” Poor husband is now mad on two counts.

So we got dressed for the party and again, stopped at Third World Ingles. I consciously chose a frozen disk of shrimp, on pre-plattered plastic with a donut hole of cocktail sauce. (Let it also be known that it was frozen for the entire length of the party) My husband grimaced, I had forgotten that he thinks it’s unnatural for seafood to be eaten this far inland. But alas, we are running out of time…

When I consulted the mirror at home, I thought I was OK. When in doubt wear black, is how I’ve lived my life for the last twenty years. Everywhere we go we are still meeting new people, so the normal insecurities of how you will come across flash through the mind. At the store, I catch a glimpse of my reflection under the florescent lighting and look out of place. Over the top. Urban. Severe. Silly. Christ. A toothless man hanging around the apple sauce confirms my suspicion with his gawk as I tottle past him in elevated heels.

The store is packed like I’ve never seen it before. My old reliable self check line, jammed. I stay on it. It has to be faster than the other lines. I ask my husband if he minds getting the car while I deal with it because my feet are already killing me, walking on these pencils. He does. I heart my husband.

Then a series of events unfurled that, I am not proud to say, made my blood begin to boil. It seemed every scanner had an issue. It was some of the slowest button pushing I’ve ever witnessed. Also, who shops for their weekly staple items on New Year’s Eve? One accidentally broke open a bag of lentils, one stopped mid-scan to have a conversation with a three-year-old about a rotisserie chicken, one is looking for a store employee to help with a produce code, one forgot her wallet in her car – left for 5 FULL MINUTES. All the while, a rogue shopper clutching one item looks to cut the line, zig-zagging around looking for opportunity…he found it amidst the chaos. Now I'm pissed. The severely pointed toe of my pump begins to tap. I audibly huff.

But before I could become the crazy lady in black screaming with road rage like angst at the Third World Ingles, my ear picks up the conversations around me – other people like me – waiting. “Happy New Year,” I hear.

I feel like a jerk. I am a jerk. New Year’s resolution #2: Be in the moment. Enjoy the ride. Life’s too short for this crap. Evolve your patience. Slow down! I turn to the lady behind me and smile. “Happy New Year,” I say.

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Happy 2009 to you and yours.