I lied to Mark.
Yesterday we had a Christmas party to attend and earlier that afternoon Mark casually asked me what side dish we should bring. First and foremost, him having to be the one that brings it up proves that I suck (my mom HATES when I use that word, but I need it for emphasis) as a Domestic Goddess because absent minded me would have showed up looking super sassy but empty handed. But above all else, unless Santa's elves could sprinkle some Christmas magic in my kitchen the likely hood of me whipping up a lovely loaf of fruit cake is as unlikely to happen as Britney Spear's becoming my best friend, but a girl can dream.
I usually avoid cooking for other's like I would avoid the plague, however Mark and the kiddos; they have to deal with it. I haven't always felt this way about my family, but after Mark told me how great the Pork chop and rice dish that was the color of pepto bismol on crack, I discovered he loved me enough to fake it. And the kids....I'll I can do is silently apologize and pray that they won't remember my cooking, or lack there of, but rather my mad skills on the trampoline.
Anyways, if it wasn't for the fact that my man's, wonderfully domestic ex had just sweetly given us a bag of Christmas deliciousness that was sooo yummy it made me self-conscious and completely fulfilled and warm inside simultaneously, I probably would have said, "Honey, why do you think there is an ENTIRE aisle at the grocery store designated for snacks? We'll, just pick up a package of Oreos". LONG PAUSE. "Wait, that isn't very festive. Hell, lets go all out and get the red and green frosted kind".
But, I didn't. I lied. I told Mark that I had a holiday dish that I was well versed in and could whip up in a snap. And the dish is.....DRUM ROLL PUUULLLEASSE. Puppy Chow. You know the cereal and chocolate concoction that everyone and there mommas know how to make. The easiest dish I could think of off the top of my head and actually I have made it. Once. In Home Ec. In 6th grade. I made a B-, and that was one of the "easy A" classes.
Well I need some alone time and in a house with two kids, one fiancee and three dogs (that's another blog), the only place to find that is on the pot. So, I told everyone I had to go "big potty" (yes that is what they call dropping the Cosby kids off a the pool in the Gardner house hold) and snuck my lap top in with me....but since I was there and the toilet seat is SO inviting....okay, I'll stop now.
Anyways, so I looked up the ingredients and directions and it looked as easy as farting so I was in like Flinn. (Just just made a fart joke which is funny, even if it's not really funny). I felt like a soccer mom as I ran to the grocery store in my sweat pants and Ugg boots with grocery list in hand. I even bought the Kroger brand to save a few bucks and used my preferred shopper card. Got home and started the whip up process, looking perfected in place in that....oh what's it call? It has the microwave in it and a sink...oh yeah, THE KITCHEN.
Slowly heat the peanut butter and chocolate chips over medium heat until melted. Check.
Mix in a large bowl melted chocolate and peanut butter with box of chex cereal and mixed nuts. Check.
Lightly sprinkle powered sugar on top. Check.
Now tell me, How the HELL did I mess that up? I still don't get it, but guess what? It happened to me! And then I had a mini-meltdown. Actually, if you know me...there's no such thing as a "mini" melt-down. In the mist of snot, tears and more snot (I have had terrible sinuses this week) I wined and fessed up to Mark about my little ole' tiny white lie.
While tasting my salty tears and a little bit of slimy snot, I told him how I felt that I did could not meet his expectations in a mate. That I would never be the Domestic Goddess that his ex-wife was and that my Puppy Chow tasted more like Puppy shit. Now, although this is not verbatim. The love of my life, wrapped his arms around me and assured me by saying:
"You are all I could ever want. You are my best friend, love of my life, you make a killer roast and you have time to learn. And as you learn, with every failure and success, I will be there, cheering for you. And besides, Martha Stewart doesn't hold a candle to your looks".
And as I wiped away my snot and tears on Mark's $150 shirt, I thought to myself, "He's right. Martha's got NOTHING on my ass".