To My Neighbors in Park Village
Including those of you over on Darkwood and possibly as far as Dormouse:
Yes, that was me this afternoon, screaming at the top of my lungs, “NO! NO! NO! THAT IS NOT HOW YOU MAKE LASAGNA!!” And, uh, that wasn’t a minor earthquake you felt. It was just me stomping up and down on my tiled floor in my chocolate brown, furry Ugg slippers.
I didn’t realize the dining room doors were open or else I’d have closed them before protesting the pasta preparations unfolding before me. Having my husband instruct me on the proper way to dice an onion was, I thought, the last straw. Then I caught him mixing the marinara with the meat – a la spaghetti -- and lost it. Obviously he isn't into layering, but invoking my mom’s limited cooking skills was too much. Toooo much, I tell you.
I know the nosier of you neighbors have noticed I’m driving into work earlier and coming home later. It’s not leaving much time to do a lot of the things I enjoy. No, I mean the things I need. You’ve probably also noticed I am not heading to the gym these days, and when I run during the week, I’m back a lot sooner, sometimes limping. Add the usual family drama, financial stresses and the fact the kid across the street keeps parking his Ron Paul for President car in front of my house, and I think you can understand that I am still out of synch with my former self.
Besides, we all know today’s temper tantrum wasn’t really about lasagna. But I still say my way is best when it comes to meat, marinara and mozzarella.
Yes, that was me this afternoon, screaming at the top of my lungs, “NO! NO! NO! THAT IS NOT HOW YOU MAKE LASAGNA!!” And, uh, that wasn’t a minor earthquake you felt. It was just me stomping up and down on my tiled floor in my chocolate brown, furry Ugg slippers.
I didn’t realize the dining room doors were open or else I’d have closed them before protesting the pasta preparations unfolding before me. Having my husband instruct me on the proper way to dice an onion was, I thought, the last straw. Then I caught him mixing the marinara with the meat – a la spaghetti -- and lost it. Obviously he isn't into layering, but invoking my mom’s limited cooking skills was too much. Toooo much, I tell you.
I know the nosier of you neighbors have noticed I’m driving into work earlier and coming home later. It’s not leaving much time to do a lot of the things I enjoy. No, I mean the things I need. You’ve probably also noticed I am not heading to the gym these days, and when I run during the week, I’m back a lot sooner, sometimes limping. Add the usual family drama, financial stresses and the fact the kid across the street keeps parking his Ron Paul for President car in front of my house, and I think you can understand that I am still out of synch with my former self.
Besides, we all know today’s temper tantrum wasn’t really about lasagna. But I still say my way is best when it comes to meat, marinara and mozzarella.
