AUTHOR: Carolyn Savage | POSTED: October 4, 2012 | COMMENTS: 8 Comments
I spent Tuesday’s post patting myself on my back regarding my fall decor, so it’s time to burst my own bubble. The act of “bubble bursting” is a necessary activity on the road to emotional balance. I mean, let’s face it, blogging is narcissistic enough. (Yea…I said it. I don’t think I’m a full-fledged narcissist, but the idea that I write this so you all will read it, and get a little high from obsessively studying my google analytics page, does indicate a slight problem with my need for validation.) In order to keep me from becoming an outright conceded ass, I engage in a little self smack down here and there, just to keep my feet planted firmly in reality.
So, I will balance my fall decor piece, with the sh*t that mocks me while I make my way around my house.
Today’s reality check centers around my silverware drawer.
Where the hell are all the spoons?
I honestly think that spoon disappearance is kind of a universal problem. I’ve often wondered if maybe spoon manufacturers, in an attempt to mess with the greater population and bolster profits, meld in some sort of self destructing element into spoons. I mean, that has to be it, right? Because there is no other explanation as to why twenty years after my first bridal shower, I have every single farking salad fork and only two spoons. Or perhaps its a conspiracy against cereal eating. Ever tried to eat a bowl of Rice Crispies with a fork? It’s not pretty. And as a result, my family hasn’t poured milk in a bowl of cereal since the mid-nineties. We eat it dry, from a baggie.
On second thought the ultimate victim of our spoonless existence may be the dairy. No milk in our cereal is hard but eating a bowl of ice cream around here is flat out ugly. Often, Sean will hide one of our two spoons as soon as it comes out of the dishwasher, just so he can make a sundae after dinner. In fact, maybe this is one of the many causes of our problems. You see, Sean is a bit ADD, and I’m pretty darn sure he’s not always able to remember where he hid the spoon when it comes time for his hot fudge, vanilla-with-Captain-Crunch-on-top concoction that he scarfs down ten minutes before bedtime. So he resorts to those useless big spoons. That’s not pretty either because those big spoons, marketed as table spoons but more reminiscent of shovels, are completely accounted for in our home. It seems that no one in the Savage household has a mouth big enough to fully engulf that gigantic utencil. So they sit, undisturbed until someone gets desperate. I tried one once, and practically dislocated my jaw and determined it was safer to drink my tomato soup. (Writing this paragraph has raised my blood pressure, by the way. I feel a bit dizzy, which is indicates my bubble bursting activity is working.)
I know I should probably do something about this tragedy…like order some more spoons. Actually, at first, I thought it was an option that would cause further distress. You see, I don’t want any more forks and knives and, I thought, the suckers only came in sets…or place-settings. That’s no good. If I buy more place-settings I’d further upset the balance of my silverware drawer, which could result in an anxiety attack and the need for another prescription. Than, in 2005, I found a company that sells just spoons. Brilliant! I ordered, and for a while, all was balanced in our world. Weird thing is, that feeling of “all is right” rattled my cage a bit. Could it be that I need a little chaos in my life to define my purpose? I’ve often fantasized about all…and I mean all…of my laundry being clean, folded and put away, and I have to tell the truth. That fantasy always ends with me spontaneously combusting. Perhaps I need to feel like there is still work to be done in my life? It defines my necessity? ( Now I’m contemplating making an appointment with a psycho-analyst, which is another crucial indicator that my “bubble bursting” activity is working.)
No worries. The stupid spoons started to vanish a few weeks later and my life quickly went back to my comfy place of imbalance.
Looking at the crazy stuff, like living a practically spoonless life, keeps me grounded. It reminds me that even though I can wrangle five kids, decorate a buffet with some pretty pumpkins and candles, I’m so amazingly far from perfect. And that’s okay for me to know, and you to know as well. It’s how I keep it real.
Keeping it real for you is simply the icing on the cake.
Smack down, complete. Now we all feel a little bit better!