Cooking For (No)One

A request for a THIRD showing on our house at 10am tomorrow set me on a fast-track for chaos this afternoon. Oh, goody. Chaos. My favorite.

I called Spin to let him know about the exciting news. He quickly changed his evening plans, so as to stay home and help get the house ready.

A novel idea.

Oops, did I say that out loud??

Obviously, that put me on the hook for making dinner, which required an unscheduled trip to the grocery. Okay. Fine, right?

But I was also thinking, “What can I do to differentiate the THIRD showing from the first two?” And the answer “FLOWERS” popped into mind…… which requires an unscheduled trip to the nursery. Umm, okaay. Well, this could be fun….

Can I just say? Going to the nursery is great for all of ten minutes…. until I am forced to reconcile with the fact that I don’t know what I am doing.

It is a romantic notion to browse and act like I’m a discerning green-thumb (snort), and it does make me feel all grown-up, so I play the part on the outside and spend the entire time beating myself up on the inside.

“You’re a fake, Soliloquy. You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not going to take care of these flowers anyway. You’re going to kill them , ya’ know.” And on and on it rants in my head…..

My problem is that I don’t want to buy the ugly ones….. but sometimes you just have to for texture and depth, blah blah blah. (I’m bull-spitting my way through this post, ya’ know…. Does it sound convincing?)

Whatever.

$150 later, I’ve got dirt, I’ve got plants, viney things and even a few things I don’t really like, just like a big girl. And I’m desperately hoping my purpose will be served.

I’m not going to have the flowers planted in time for the showing, because… well, I don’t care enough to plant them at night.

Plus, I’m fairly certain they look a lot better separate than they will when they’re actually planted.

They will, however, be strategically located in the general vicinty of their intended destination…. and I’m hoping the buyers will be impressed with that, at least.

Just in case, though – I bought some Gerbera daisies for the kitchen at the grocery. That’ll get ‘em.

So, I get home from the nursery, and hubby has beat me home. He’s like the Tasmanian Devil, but in a good sort of way. He sweeps through the house, cleaning and straightening everything in his wake – which instantly puts me in a good mood. He’s home + he’s cleaning = uncork a bottle of wine, right?

Until it all comes crashing down on me when he states that he is going out tonight…. and I’m all, “But you told me….. and I went to the grocery….. and waaaaah.”

“Fine, I’ll eat before I go.”, he concedes.

Satisfied, I started cooking for him, Stink and me. Nina was going to church early to eat dinner before youth group, until she changed her mind and thought, maybe she’d eat at home and have her friend here for dinner.

Fine, we’re up to five. No biggie. I’m happily preparing my spaghetti, got noodles ready to go – green beans on, sipping contentedly on my wine.

And then, she changes her mind again. No, now they’re going to eat at church. Who is this woman-child and where did she learn this?

Down to three again. Okay. (sip)

Until hubby says, “I’ll just take her now then, but I’m not going to come back for dinner.”

Down to two. (swig)

And Stink says, “Dad, can I come too?”

“Why sure, son.”

And all of a sudden, I’ve got dinner going for….. me? Notsomuch, thank you. (as I drain my glass)

Thankfully, everything can be used as leftovers…. except that it’s not really left over from anything.

The wine though, had been opened, and what else was I supposed to have for dinner?

So, it’s me, my wine, and you, dear reader.

Maybe if we pretend the empty house that needs to be cleaned isn’t there, it will go away?