CaLAMITY

Spent the past couple of days working my side jobs: furniture store and babysitting. Being that it is the holiday season, the furniture store decided to hold a potluck. As an office employee, this means all of the sales associates bring food and the office staff eat it. Dandini and I were working on trading our designated lunch time so we could eat together or, ‘go on a date to the potluck’, when Slam walked up to the counter. “Wow Slam,” I said, “Last week you were frequenting the other side of the counter and, today, this side.” “I go both ways,” Slam responded. I’m starting to think he really might.

Dandini and I made our way to the potluck, taking a stroll through the corner cabinets and youth beds, when we heard a strange grinding noise coming from the potluck. In addition to the potluck standards – potato salad, artichoke dip, deviled eggs, and Coca-Cola marinated ham – someone brought in a full-size shaved ice machine, complete with an employee to make and serve the shaved ice. This was definitely the hit of the potluck. So much so, that one of the employees had a raspberry cream shaved ice at the potluck and, as she was returning to the sales floor with that shaved ice in hand, she approached the shaved ice stand and said, “I’m going to need another one to go.”

It was about this time that Dandini and I decided to partake. I ordered a small Tiger’s Blood and Dandini advised the shaved-ice employee, “Please make it special, we’re on a date.” Dandini then handed me my shaved ice and informed me, “I can guarantee you’ll taste a little bit of love with every bite.” This comment, and the fact that I picked Tiger’s Blood, made me think of the whole bread is my body, wine is my blood craziness, and then my thoughts went straight to Theresa Rogers (cougar) and Tiger Woods. These thoughts were both calamitic and appetite suppressing. Fortunately, I was still able to enjoy my shaved ice.

Later in the evening I came home to prepare for my babysitting job. OregganO and MyFace had eagerly agreed to assist and, in return, I offered to make them clam chowder. The last time I made clam chowder was for Tree and Dr. BJ and I forgot to add the clams. I was determined to not let that happen again. So, I put all of the ingredients in a spot where they could not be missed.

Once everyone arrived, to include MiniMe and WeeQ, I started making the chowder. We were discussing road trips, specifically the trip to Jackson Hole last year, and decided we should rent a couple of motorhomes and convoy on up to Mount Rushmore. The idea of having CB radios in the motorhomes excited me and I was practicing a few exchanges we could have while using our ‘handles.’ “Breaker 1-9, MyFace. Looks like we’ve got a Smokey in a plain brown wrapper up ahead.” “I don’t like MyFace,” said MyFace. “I’d like to request a name change. May I please be Dallas?” “10-4,” I replied.

The chowder was done, the boxed wine had been poured (aka spouted) and the table was set. Well, almost. I noticed Dallas had a chipped bowl and, being that she was a guest, I took her bowl and said, “I can’t have you eating out of a chipped bowl, you’re a guest.” I then set the bowl at OregganO’s place setting. She comes over often enough now that I don’t need to pull out the good (non-chipped) dishes for her.

We began eating and I started to tell them the sans clams calamity that occurred the last time I made clam chowder for Tree and Dr. BJ, when I looked in my bowl and realized I had done it again! I couldn’t believe it. This was a major calamity. Dallas giggled and said, “I noticed the clams were still in the can when you started dishing up the chowder, but I don’t like clams, so I said nothing.” OregganO added, “I don’t really like clams either, so this is perfect.” Next time, no clams or chowder – I’m hiring the shaved iced employee. I hear shaved ice pairs nicely with boxed wine.