The pitfalls in writing a column with a one-month lead time were never more evident than they were this time around. A week or two after submitting my piece, an out-of-town client tricked me into eating a giant slab of coconut cake. And a bread pudding. With mango ice cream. As you know, mine is a service profession, so when the client says, “Split this cake with me, I can’t possibly finish the whole thing,” I have no choice but to step in and assist him with my fork. IT’S MY JOB.
So there was the coconut cake.
And after the cake, was I just supposed to go home and go to bed without sampling some of the Dutch licorice my aunt sent me for Christmas? Was I supposed to ignore its wee Dutch voice berating me from the cabinet, “Verrader! U koos kokosnotencake in plaats van me?”
Do not fuck with the Dutch licorice. It will make you fart EVEN MORE.
Also for your reading pleasure, Kim Green, who writes for public radio (and kicks ass at it) has an essay called "Book of Love" in this month’s issue that I think you’ll really enjoy. It’s a miniature memoir of how she met and fell in love with her husband, Hal. It is also a delightful departure from the usual, I saw him/her at a party, and thought he/she was HOT, but I didn’t have the courage to ask him/her out BLAH BLAH BLAH HOW DO ALL THESE BORING PEOPLE KEEP FINDING EACH OTHER? stories I love so much.
No offense to those of you who “met across a room and thought each other was hot.”
I wish you every happiness.