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My pulse quickens as the sign-up sheet circles the room. It approaches and I notice the other ladies are talking and laughing. They seem so unfazed, so unruffled by what they are being asked to do. They use their pens like swords and claim their day with bravado–their day to bring the snack.
The woman next to me has just finished writing down that she will bring her snack to the next meeting. It is finally my turn. My heart is galloping as I scour the sign-up sheet for some distant date, far into the future. Or maybe I should chose a close date, to get it out of the way? I surrender my name, and my fate has been sealed…I must provide a fabulously delicious snack. It is weeks away, but the panic has set in.
I suffer from a syndrome known as “Snack Stress”–the panic and worry that comes when I belong to a group where food is part of the activity. Because the burden shouldn’t rest on the few, a sign-up sheet is circulated and the members are asked (or in my case, practically held at gunpoint) to provide the treats for one session/meeting/gathering.
It isn’t that I am cheap. It isn’t that I am lazy–okay, we’ve established that I am. The true reason is that I am terrified my snack will, at best, be mediocre, and at worst, kill a few people.
This issue is weighing heavily on my mind today because tomorrow is MOPS–my day out to hang with the other mommies, no kids. And I signed up to bring a “breakfast casserole.” What in God’s Green Earth was I thinking? Why didn’t I put down “bagels” or “muffins”? I must have some sick subconscious need to terrorize myself with cooking for people other than my family. I am not a stellar cook. I still need to call my mom to have her remind me how to hard boil an egg.
For tomorrow’s meeting, I dug out a recipe called “Zippy Egg Casserole”. A friend of mine made it for a MOPS meeting about a year ago. It was very good, good enough for me to ask for the recipe. She is a great cook, however. The idea behind this breakfast casserole is to mix it up the night before. It sits in the fridge all night and is baked in the morning, like a prisoner on death row that waits to be executed via a 350 degree oven.
I hope the egg will firm while cooking. I hope the cheese doesn’t curdle. I hope the sausage doesn’t spew too much grease into the mixture. I hope the croutons don’t get too soggy. I hope it doesn’t burn. I hope it isn’t raw. I hope that my oven works. I hope I make enough. I hope I don’t witness anyone taking a bite and then making that face–surprise, fake smile, and then saying, in a strained-enthusiastic voice: “it’s interesting!”
I hope that no deadly bacteria find their way into my Zippy Egg Casserole and kill my friends.
I have nothing cohesive to say today. But in keeping with the whole idea of this blog (a discipline tool for me to practice writing), I have to type something. So here it goes:
This morning I was craving Starbucks. I have heard people joke that they must put something in their coffee that makes it addicting. I have never gone to Starbucks, except as a rare treat–maybe twice a year. I just don’t want to have to take the kids inside. I am lazy about it. But in the past month I have had a couple of vanilla lattes and now I can’t stop thinking about vanilla lattes. I have vanilla-latte shakes. Vanilla latte is calling to me. It must be the gateway to more hardcore stuff, like vanilla cappucino. I didn’t give in–once again, laziness ruled. Too bad teenagers today can’t be more lazy–maybe they wouldn’t be into sex and drugs so much. They would all want naps instead. Laziness keeps me from cultivating a hardcore caffeine addiction, as well as going to exercise (not a good thing) at Curves.
Now, about Curves: The Curves I go to is located in a strip mall, like many other Curves. I never gave it much thought. Then one night, as I got out of the car and headed inside, I noticed that my Curves had unusual neighbors in the strip mall. A gun shop. An “adult” video rental shop, an “Irish” pub, and Bingo. Basically, guns, sex, alcohol, and gambling…and me, jogging in place to oldies with a dance-beat, sandwiched in between. Many of you may be saying “sounds like a good time!” But I left one neighbor out: a DAYCARE. I know good daycare is hard to find, but I would chose one that didn’t share a roof with guns, sex, alcohol, gambling, and Mopsy in spandex.
Oops! There is one more neighbor that I neglected to mention: Starbucks.
This is a magical, golden time of year. I love to snuggle up with a blanket, a cup of Almond Sunset tea, and my voter’s guide. Our county voter’s guide arrived on Monday. I enjoyed reading through the ballot issues and mentally making my list of “yep” and “no way!” One of my favorites from the Class of 2004 is this one:
BALLOT ISSUE 4B:
SHALL THERE BE AN EXTENSION UNTIL JUNE 30, 2018, OF THE AGGREGATE O.1 PERCENT SALES AND USE TAXES CURRENTLY LEVIED AND COLLECTED BY THE DENVER METROPOLITAN AND SCIENTIFIC AND CULTURAL FACILITIES DISTRICT THAT ARE SCHEDULED TO EXPIRE…ETC, ETC, ETC…
mmmmmm…pour me some more tea
I will vote yes in this particular ballot issue because the taxes collected go to support the zoo, the museums, and many other cultural endeavors that our family likes to visit. It helps keep admission costs down and mandates free days for citizens of Colorado. I think it is important to keep educational and cultural offerings affordable for everyone. Wholesome entertainment is priceless and good for our society.
Not everyone agrees with me, including many who are reading this (if anyone is, indeed, reading this!). Let’s agree to disagree!
Being a fair-minded and equal-opportunity person, I did read the opposing view provided by the voting guide. While it did not sway me, I found it very entertaining and I would like to share a snippet of it here, verbatim:
Taxation is for fire and police protection. Yes. We are already being taxed for the public schools. If the school boards that spend these tax dollars feel that certain of these organizations offer educational programs for our youth, let them be paid for out of school budgets.
World leaders in the past used taxes to fund “Ministries of Culture.” Taxation for churches and culture is not the American Way. If “Joe Six Pack” can afford $60 for a rock concert ticket, “Money Bags” should not be subsidized for his seat at the symphony.
Vote “no” and end this unjust tax.
Proving how mature I am, my favorite part of all is that the phrase “Joe Six Pack” is in an official voter’s guide. And I had to give a little smile to whomever thinks that I am a “Money Bags”, with my top hat, my cane, and my pipe. Attending the “thee-ah-tah”, lectures on floral arranging, and cocktail parties with five small children in tow. Yeah, that’s me! Forget the six-pack, pour me a cognac…can I have a straw?
There…I got political. Interested in thoughts…
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