I stood there now fuming, with my arms crossed and foot tapping ready to go toe-to-toe with whatever salesman was ringing my bell and interrupting my perfectly good pity party, when to my humiliation and surprise there before me stood the most handsome, muscular, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, suntanned hunk in a UPS uniform I had ever seen.
After a moment or two I picked my jaw up off the floor and while still a bit flustered began trying to straighten my, what I was sure to be, mussed hair. It was then that I realized that the green mask that I had so skillfully applied an hour earlier was now a permanent part of my facial features.
Eventually I stopped screaming. I very calmly looked at him, held up a solitary finger and quietly whispered. “I’ll be back in just one minute.” I gave him an obviously false smile, closed the door, none to gently I might add and leaned against it, my hand clutched to my throat. Had I actually just screamed and was I really standing in my own doorway looking like the Bride of Frankenstein with green goop all over my face while the man of my fantasies was standing on the otherside ready to give me presents?
Okay God. I know you have a sense of humor but sometimes I think it’s a bit twisted. There is some hunk standing at my door and I look like Godzilla mated with the hairball from Alcatraz.
No. It couldn’t be. God wouldn’t do this to me. I had to be imagining things. That had to be the only logical explanation. I was still in bed sleeping and this was just a dream. A nightmare in fact.
I shook the fogginess out of my head, turned and opened the door to prove to myself that he wasn’t really there. I reached out, for God knows what reason. Because I was nuts, that’s why. I wanted to feel for myself if he was real I guess, but I touched the box he held instead. It was real. If it was real then the Fabio look-alike must be real.
I had to be 100% certain. I poked his arm. With my finger still resting on his bicep, (a very muscular bicep at that) I closed my eyes for just a second. “Help,” I said quietly to myself, I thought, but unfortunately loud enough for Mr. Wonderful here to hear me, I assume since he let out a small but quiet chuckle. Without hesitation, I slammed the door in his face. Oh dear Lord don’t let me have broken his nose.
I guess I didn’t because a few moments later I heard a deeper sounding chuckle. He was laughing at me! How dare this gorgeous stud-muffin laugh at me! On second thought I guess I’d laugh too, if I expected to see some middle aged frump and instead found a distant relative of Yoda, chin whiskers and all. I guess I’ll let him off the hook. God I wasn’t so sure about.
“Ms. McPherson?” His voice was just as dreamy as his looks with this Chevalier meets Bogie type thing going on which actually made him sound a bit like the Godfather.
“Yes?” I was talking to a door. The door was talking back.
“Is everything okay?” He was worried about me.
“I’m not feeling very well.”
“You were looking a bit green. I’ll just leave the package at the door.”
I hadn’t lied. I was feeling sick; I was a bit green thanks to Maureen and her Marvelous Mask for Masochists!
I said goodbye to Mr. America and thanked him for leaving the package on the doorstep. I ran downstairs to my bathroom and filled the sink with hot water. I had to get this cement off of my face. I scrubbed as hard as I dare. Why won’t this stuff come off? Was I really going to have to use a hammer and chisel?
It took close to thirty minutes, but I thought I was finally making some progress in removing that evil green parasite. The phone was ringing again and I wish I had kept it on silent. I ignored it this time as my patience was wearing thin. So finally, was the goop on my face. My skin was now clear of the green cement and had taken on a healthy, freshly scoured reddish tone. Maureen’s Marvelous Mask was wrong. Tingle did not begin to describe the way my face felt right now. Was that blood?
I called my friend to tell her I would be late for our previously planned brunch. Did you ever notice that it takes twice as long, to look half as good? I was frantically trying to put on panty hose. I couldn’t remember the last time I had worn them and now I know why. I felt like a Thanksgiving turkey. You know big and round to begin with and then filled with a ton of stuffing. Maybe if I just packed a little more here or folded a bit more into this part there. I drew the line at stuffing anything up my…
While trying to catch my breath from the exercise of putting on the panty hose, I decided to wear jeans instead. They were neatly pressed and after adding a nice blouse, I supposed I didn’t look too bad. I took one final glance in the mirror, and acknowledged that not only had I kept my sweet girlish figure, I doubled it.
I looked up to the heavens and confessed that I had not begun my day with prayer. “If I have to endure anything else like the humiliation you’ve already put me through this morning, then you’re coming with me.” Although a bit late in coming, and not quite the way I am sure he wanted to hear it, it was still music to his ears.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst, for they are sticking to their diets.
BLUEBERRY SYRUP
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 cup Late Harvest dessert wine
2 cups blueberries, fresh or frozen
Make the sauce: In a small saucepan stir together the sugar, the cornstarch, and the Late Harvest dessert wine and cook mixture over moderately high heat, stirring occasionally for 5 minutes, or until thickened. Stir in the blueberries and simmer the mixture until the berries have burst (10 minutes). Add the butter and stir until melted. Serve over pancakes, crêpes, French toast.
