Let Me Tell You Why I Suck*
But moving on to the illustration of my point: On Monday, I did something so bizarrely out of character, I can only assume that chemotherapy had more far-reaching effects than I had ever imagined in that it must have altered some core element of my esoteric being. I spent the evening baking.
Wait a minute, I hear you saying. That's not sucky! That sounds like you might be actually be getting good at being domestic! That sounds like there's hope! Yay!
To which I say, O ye of little faith.
First, some background. The reason for the foray into Betty Crockerdom was due to the fact that I had a medical appointment the next day and wanted to bring some goodies for the wonderful staff who took care of me through my cancer ordeal. Second, a(n embarrassing) confession: my mom helped me. She let me come over and use her kitchen because I was too terrified to contemplate the horrors that would no doubt result in my attempting unsupervised domesticity (giving the old "don't try this at home" line a delightfully ironic twist). Anyway, the point is, I ended up with a batch of red velvet cupcakes for the nurses in the chemo treatment room and a few loaves of pumpkin bread — one for my doctor, and two more as extras. And I would just like to add that my mom cautioned me, as we put the cupcakes in a large tray and covered them with foil, about not letting the foil touch the cupcakes because it would mess up the frosting.
So naturally, the next day as I was headed out of my house to my car, my arms full of about a million different things including the cupcake tray, I rested something — oh so briefly! oh how gently! — on top of the aluminum foil covering the cupcakes.
It will come as a surprise to no one that the cupcakes got messed up. (Which, however, did not prevent them from being eaten.)
And that's not even the worst of it. That morning, I also had to wrap the pumpkin bread for my doctor, since I hadn't done it the night before because of wanting to wait til the bread cooled. But first I cut a small piece off of one of the loaves to taste it and make sure I wasn't about to give my doctor something that tasted like, oh, say chemotherapy. Thankfully the bread actually tasted awesome, so I wrapped them all in plastic wrap, but added an outside layer of tissue paper graced by a pretty Christmas ribbon and a card on the one for my doctor. Then I took that one out to the car, along with the aforementioned cupcakes and the loaf I'd cut into (which I'd decided to share with my co-workers), and drove off to my appointment.
My first inkling of trouble came after I arrived at work later that morning, when I stood in my office kitchen staring at the pumpkin bread loaf I'd just unwrapped and not seeing the place where I'd sliced it. The dreaded confirmation of my mistake came when I got home and discovered that the third loaf, which I'd put aside for someone else, also did not bear any telltale signs of violence. That could only mean one thing.
Somehow I had managed to give my doctor — for Christmas, and also as a thank-you for helping to save my life— a loaf of delicious pumpkin bread from which I had already eaten. Classy.
My mom, bless her heart, made me feel a tiny bit better about the whole thing after I wailed to her about it over gchat and told her I felt like an idiot. Turns out she was making pumpkin bread today, and after getting the bread pans in the oven, she walked through the kitchen and found the can of pumpkin still sitting, unopened, on the table. She had forgotten to blend it in with the other ingredients! And since pumpkin is kind of a key ingredient in pumpkin bread, she had to haul the bread pans out of the oven, dump the hot mix into a bowl, add in the pumpkin, pour the mix back into the pans, pop them back in the oven and then hope for the best.
"Now who's the idiot?" she typed.
Oh, don't you worry, Mom. It's still me. I'm just a slightly comforted one, that's all.
* bonus Christmas points if you get the movie reference!