slice of life

i'm afraid i've spent far too much time over the years on this blog describing how much liam and susanna are growing and changing and learning, to the detriment of talking about myself.  for i, too, continue to learn valuable life lessons on a very regular basis -- lessons that broaden my horizons and improve my world perspective and make me a better person.  i experienced one such lesson this very weekend that i'd love to share with you now.

any time you have dinner guests, you know they're true friends if they offer to bring something to contribute to the meal.  i have never once turned down such an offer.  this weekend we had two couples over for dinner, and one brought a delicious salad and the other brought bread.  i stuck the bread in the oven to warm, and took it out while all six of us were standing around the island swapping stories.  after trying rather valiantly to hold the piping hot loaf with my left hand so i could cut it, i gave up and grabbed my oven mitt.

as i was slicing with my brand-new super-duper bread knife that my parents gave me for christmas, i was also participating in the conversation and not paying terribly close attention to the task at hand.  i picked up a few slices to place into the basket and noticed a strange red piece of plastic stuck inside the loaf .  weird, i thought.  i had obviously not cut myself, but i couldn't figure out what it could be, and decided i wouldn't mention it and discreetly threw it away.  i should find out where they bought it, i decided, because i'll make sure to buy my bread elsewhere.

and then, a minute later, it happened again.  there it was, stuck in the soft loaf -- another similar red plasticky something-or-other.  this time, i really scrutinized it, worried that i might unintentionally be setting out to harm my dinner guests.  it was firm but pliable and reminded me of the waxy substance that's often on top of wine corks.  what if it's something dangerous?  i wondered.  something that might get lodged in their throats, or cause cancer, or flavor the entire meal and turn everything inedible?  (to be honest, i was most worried about the last possibility, since i'd spent most of the day in the kitchen.)  two of our dinner guests happened to be attorneys.  i figured it would behoove me to figure it out.

i took off my oven mitt ... and it was only then that i realized what i had done.  i looked up, sheepishly, hoping that no one had noticed.  luckily i found four people still in the midst of their conversation, none the wiser.  but the fifth person -- my loving husband of almost 13 years -- stood there smiling at me, shaking his head as if to say i-can't-believe-you're-this-clueless-but-i-love-you-anyway.  (at least, that's the text i mentally ascribed to him in my closed captioning version of the scene.  more likely it was something like i-really-did-marry-the-epitome-of-a-dumb-blonde, but i refuse to go there.)

so what are the lessons here, you ask?  there are many.  you should, for example, know the sharpness of your knife and what it's capable of.  you should also have a sense of the actual size of your oven mitt.  and perhaps it's wisest to just wait until the bread has cooled enough to hold it in place with your bare hands.

but the most important lesson i learned is one i plan to pass on to my children: choose your spouse wisely.  make sure you marry a person who a) is interested enough in you that even after 16 years of being together, he still watches you closely enough to be aware of your mistakes; b) has the sense of humor to find such mistakes funny (and not embarrassing); and c) is so kind that just with a smile from across the room, you know that such a mistake is one that will remain just between the two of you. 

(that is, until you decide to share it with the whole world on a blog.  at that point, you might be on your own.)