Elevator Embarrassment

For all the derision I feel for people who are incapable of using an elevator properly, I was properly shamed today.

At work, I was calling the elevator to go down… and pushed the up button. And didn’t notice what I’d done until it was pointed out to me.

Mockery ensued. I deserved it.

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More Mockery

Lest you think I only mock other people, considering myself superior to others, I will share some of my recent kitchen foibles.  Mostly because I think that my own stupidity was funny. 

Friday night, Conner and I had our good friend W over to hang out.  I decided to surprise Conner by making a bisque, and bought all of the ingredients ahead of time (like, Wednesday or Thursday–for once I was on the ball!).  It was to be a corn and red pepper bisque, and sure to be delicious. 

Friday came and I was scurrying around the apartment like a madwoman, having procrastinated tidying up to the last minute (after Oliver’s nap).  I had to start the bisque, clean the kids’ toys, sweep, do some dishes… But I did it.  The toys were put away (stuffed into Oliver’s room where nobody would see them), the clean laundry was hidden (in Conner’s closet–no time to fold the clothes).  The dirty laundry was hidden (in my closet, so we didn’t confuse the baskets).  The dishes were cleaned (I didn’t cut corners there). 

I sat Oliver down to eat his dinner, and began to prepare the ingredients for the soup.  It was then–and only then–that I realized that in our NYC apartment, I only have one pot.  And it’s a 2.5 or 3 quart pot.  Certainly not big enough to make soup in.  After about 10 minutes of panicking and trying to figure out what else I could make that would dazzle W (she’s really fabulous and worth dazzling), I realized that I could halve the recipe.  Phew!  Disaster averted.

Then it crossed my mind that we only have two real bowls.  Our ‘fully stocked’ kitchen did not come with bowls, and when we first moved here we only bought one for each of us.  After all, we have plenty of bowls at home.  This was a problem.  I considered serving dinner straight out of the pot and pretending that it was some hipster way of eating, but I rejected that as being a bit too weird to be believable.  I considered having Conner stop and buy a bowl on his way home from work, but he was already running late. 

I settled on serving my soup into what can only be considered a deep plate.  Seeing as how I’m not a huge fan of the spicy and the soup contained more than a little cayenne pepper, I wasn’t going to be eating a lot anyway. 

So, disaster averted.  Fun was had by all on Friday night.  But I’ve learned my lesson: don’t just read recipes ahead of time… think about what you’ll need to cook the food in the recipe, and what you’ll need to serve it. 

Is She Comfortable?

Walking around the city, I usually carry Hazel in a moby wrap (the lilac Moby D, to be exact).  I get tons of compliments on it, and people often stop me to ask me where I got it, either because they want one themselves or they want to purchase one as a gift for a pregnant loved one.

But then today I got the oddest comment (and it wasn’t the first time someone has said this either, which in my mind goes to show the sheer lack of thinking that people do these days).  Conner and I had stopped to look at some street wares (on a quick tangent, we got a set of 600 thread count queen sized sheets for $20 today!) and a woman says, “That’s an interesting wrap.  Are you sure she’s comfortable in it?”

Uh… what do you say to that?  I mean, she hasn’t expressed her comfort directly–her current vocabulary consists of ‘ahhh’ and the regular belch.  But she does fall asleep in it, and when she got tired of being all tucked into it (one of the newborn holds), she would fuss in it.  So, I assume she’s comfortable. 

But isn’t that a weird question?  I’m tempted to respond, “Actually, I’m pretty sure she’s quite uncomfortable.  In fact, I believe that she hates it and considers it a torture device.  I continue using it, however, because of my lack of caring what my infant thinks, and my desire to selfishly carry my baby as close to me as possible.  I’m sure you can tell by her slight snores that she might indeed have some broken bones.”

I mean, really, people.  Think before you talk, or expect to get mocked.  🙂