| Double Helix |
[16 Jul 2003|08:43pm] |
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mood |
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 angry |
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music |
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"Leif Erikson" by Interpol |
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I am not a cheery hostess.
My family is big, silly, stupid and cluttered. The divorce situation requires a mob of us around when one visits. Gaping, insatiable maws. Dishes forever being cleared away. Wayward children and the older ones flacking "wha-at?"s when they fail to hear what you're saying. Dammit. I was just going to point out that Japanese maple... after all that, never mind. Continue to quack dumbfoundedly. I have nothing on common with any of these. Maybe some physical features, but nothing else. The farts of children make my head reel. Get away, get away, get away...
They say you don't mind as much when they're your own. I fear this isn't true sometimes. So tired. Hostesses are just cupcakes to me, with the double helix of white frosting across the equator. What a thankless being.
One of the worst feelings in the world, someone turning up their nose at the plate you put in front of them. One you stood in front of a stove, stirred and nursed... arranged and set. All that work and a nose crinkle. A "blegh". A, "how much more?" after they manage to sludge down two agonized bites.
Damn I'm tired. I'm sorry Mom, for not liking your food. I realize the other side every time I cook for a pack of small someones.
I mutter in the kitchen under my breath, mild profanities. My grandmother has to adjust everything you do. A small insult every 2 minutes. Gripping the back of her neck and submerging it swiftly into the magma-hot pot of mashed potatoes would've been sweet. Heat makes people mad.
Phew.
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