Yes, I know it's only been a day since my last blog on the OFC, but I'm bored, so the nine of you who are reading this thing will just have to put up with me, okay??
OK, so here's the thing: I spend my life trying to avoid embarrassment. To me, there's almost nothing worse than doing something stupid and having someone catch you at it.
Falling -- I've done that quite a number of times. A few years ago, I did it three whole times in one week, including a spectacular fall down the basement steps while carrying a printer, though no one saw that one but my cat. (I'm sure he was laughing his little feline head off about it, though. Cats have a twisted sense of humor.)
And then there was the time I was attempting to impress my then-boyfriend by making a complicated apple cake recipe that had been circulating among the employees where I worked. Armed with a hand-me-down electric mixer and a hand-written copy of the recipe, I set confidently to the task.
The mixer I'd been given was one of those old detachable types, meant to be both a hand- and a stand-mixer, when it didn't quite make it at either. The hand mixer part hooked onto an upright arm that suspended it over a platform whereupon the mixer bowl was supposed to sit. Unfortunately, though, the bowl had long been broken somehow, somewhere before my time, so I'd had to improvise by using a bowl of my own that looked to be about the right approximate size.
The recipe called for a whole mess of ingredients that had cost me a bundle to buy at the grocery store, and it had taken me what seemed like forever to peel and slice all the apples. But nothing was too good for my boyfriend and I knew that once I'd demonstrated all my mad, mad baking skillz, he'd fall even more deeply in love with me! Me and him and Apple Cake 4EVA!!
So I started dumping all the ingredients into the bowl, one after the other, until very soon, the bowl was so full that the ingredients came to within about a half-inch of overflowing. Undeterred, I stuck it onto the mixer platform, lowered the spindly little beaters into it, and set the speed to low. Gamely, the beaters chugged along through the batter, doing a surprisingly good job of turning the mess into a smooth mixture. Once it was all combined to my satisfaction, I turned up the speed to medium.
I stayed there and observed the mixer for quite a while, making sure the bowl was turning as it should. The batter was supposed to be beaten for 10 minutes, so rather than stand there the whole time and be bored (I have the attention span of a house fly), I decided to set the timer and join my boyfriend in the next room.
When I thought the ten minutes were probably almost up, I got up and ambled back into the kitchen...
...just in time to see the beaters doing some amblin' of their own -- right off the mixer stand.
"NOOOOOOO!!!" I yelled, flying over the remaining stretch of kitchen floor in a panic.
But it was too late -- the beaters leaped merrily off their hook, knocking the bowl right off the stand. The bowl fell to the floor, shattering and spreading across the floor in an apple-and-glass-studded lava flow. Meanwhile the beaters, now free of their hook prison, continued to whirl, throwing batter high up into the air and all over the walls, ceiling, counter, and me, as they fell off to the side and upside-down, practically yelling "WHEEEEEE!!" in the process.
"STOP!!!" I futilely shrieked as I danced around, desperately trying to avoid the bits of apple batter getting hurled at my head. Frantically dodging the spinning blades, I finally grabbed the electric cord and yanked it out of the socket.
My cats, who had come to see what all the excitement was about, stared at me with round, frightened eyes. I had batter in my hair, my nose, my eyelashes, and all over my shirt and pants. There were bits of apple and splashes of batter everywhere I looked.
I collapsed to the floor amidst the goo and wailed, "All those ingredients -- gone!! All that money!! Stupid, stupid mixer!!!" And my boyfriend?
Laughed his fool head off. He hadn't been so entertained in...forever.
Which just goes to show, the way to a man's heart is not through his stomach, but through doing stupid things that make him laugh. Because boys are simple, and it's always good to remember that.