“Trust is like an eraser, it gets smaller and smaller after every mistake.”
Don’t task me with bringing the fruit salad to brunch. I cannot be trusted to pick ripe fruit so I screw it up every time.
Once, emboldened by the misguided faith that I’d picked well, I waited until the last possible minute to cut up the fruit and ensemble the salad. The peaches were as hard as baseballs, the strawberries were moldy and lo and behold I had chosen not one, not two, but three worm infested melons. A cantaloupe, a honeydew, and a casaba to be exact.
Cue the screaming.
You ‘d think at this stage of my life I’d have knocked on enough melons to know the difference, but alas, that is NOT the case. (For decades the same could be said for my ability to pick men.)
Now I know my shortcomings and after that horrendous episode I will volunteer for dessert duty (excluding fruit torts), or the cheese plate. Always the cheese plate. If you can have your pick of what to bring to a soiree, pick cheese. It’s next to impossible to screw up a cheese plate. (Unless you bring Velveeta. Although…at a wedding back in the day they served sliced Velveeta with a sharp cheddar and some brie and many of us scoffed. How incredibly low brow! Then, some of us covertly loaded up our napkins and scarfed it up secretly in a dark corner.)
I cannot be trusted to pick out glasses that compliment my features. I repeatedly go for style over substance, trendy and oversized. I am neither a millennial nor a hipster so I cannot carry off trendy trends but don’t tell that to my oversized purple cat eye frames.
I should stick to timeless. Classic style frames and cheese plates.
I cannot be trusted to know off the top of my head how to get anywhere.
And by anywhere I mean ANYWHERE.
I could not find my way out of a paper bag without GPS.
Don’t follow me because I can be counted on to walk in the opposite direction of where we’re headed.
Not just sometimes. EVERYTIME!
It’s a joke. But not a funny one. Unless you’re my husband who finds it endearing and thinks it’s hilarious.
You must always marry a man who laughs at your shortcomings.
I am a continuous source of entertainment for the man.
So in closing, pick the cheese plate, stay away from the fruit, don’t attempt purple cat eye frames (you’ve been warned), and pick a man who thinks wormy melons and watching you walk with determination in the wrong direction is a riot.
Carry on,
xox
