So, Nick is having this cookout tonight. He has invited assorted coworkers, some with whom he plays in a volleyball league, some with whom he does not play in a volleyball league, and then there's me.
It'll be a motley crew. But without Nikki Sixx.
And the hair will be on a smaller scale altogether.
Anyway, he told me about this get-together last week and my immediate question, as I was trained to be well-mannered, was "What can I bring?"
"Just yourself," he replied. This was not a suitable answer. I would feel better if I brought something. I asked the question several times over the past week, hoping I would hit him with his defenses down and he'd blurt, "CHOCOLATE MOUSSE!", "BRUSSELS SPROUTS!", or other cravings such as these. But, no...
So, last night arrives, and he's grocery shopping for this fête. He has his list in hand, the small, well-spaced neat lettering of his menu ingredients marked just so, with the overlarge "BEER" at the bottom. Can't forget the beer. He tells me that a coworker, Debbie—Debby? Debbi?—insisted on bringing something for the occasion. I threw a hand to my hip in what should have been a huffy stance, though my position reclined and cross-legged in the passenger seat lessened the effect marginally.
"I would have LOVED to bring something!"
I blurt, as my defenses are down quite often and I'm prone to dramatic interludes of fussiness. It's one of my nicer qualities. COMPLETELY ATTRACTIVE. Now, the man had no problem trying to guilt trip his mother into making potato salad, but a willing accomplice? Nooooo—pamper Laura, force leisure, make her feel cherished! JERK! The evening drew to a close and I leaned in. "I had an easy seafood salad..." I led.
"That would have been fine," he replies at length, and I dually fume and rejoice. Poor show, Host, poor show.
I proceed to plan the preparation of the easy seafood salad the next morning (this morning), having grown accustomed to the 24-hour grocery stores in North Carolina. The bullies don't open until 6:00 here! Hello! Some of us are wide awake at 2:30 and the only thing we can think of is seafood salad! Think of the customers you're losing! Geez!
A quick rummaging of the cupboards found every ingredient but some bit of some seafood—arguably the least important part of my seafood salad—and I left IOU post-its all over the place. Just to be the perfectionist that I am, I'll probably buy some bit of some seafood to toss in during my lunch hour. Lunch half-hour. Probably crab. Maybe shrimp. I am what I eat....but I'm not so desperate as Nick's friend Jeff, who made tuna-cakes in the absence of crab meat. By the way his face scrunched in the retelling, I'm thinking for now on he'll stick with the crab.
Fortuitously, I shan't be skating on such
thin ice with my "seafood" of choice now that I've wandered ever-so-slightly away from the Atlantic.
