I woke up this morning beaming with pride. I had done it. Last night inspired by Goddess Clotilde, I had made THE pastry crust that will force all my previous attempts into depressive comas. A divined crust so malleable, so agreeable that it rolled without sticking, baked without shrinking, and maintained a chicly sculpted edge without benefit of those gaudy Emile Henry Artisan Ruffled Pie Dishes that I can’t afford. It’s okay. Be jealous. I know I would be.
At 8:37am, well on my way to egocentricity, I finally decided to get ready for work. Wrapped in Olive Oil Crust bliss nothing could go wrong. Yet standing naked in the shower, something seemed to be missing—THE SOAP! Policy dictates that in situations such as this, frustration and blame be directed towards someone other than the victim (namely me).
Ring ring
Greg: Good morning darling.
Adam: Where the fuck is the soap?
Greg: There isn’t any left?
Adam: uh, NO.
Greg: Oh, I guess we must be out.
Adam: You think?
Greg: You could use the shampoo?
Adam hangs up
I cursed Greg. I cursed myself for allowing my success in the kitchen to cloud my common sense. My search for scraps of Dial hiding behind the facial cleanser was futile.
Then I discovered my salvation sitting on the ledge of the sink, the Holy Grail: SoftSoap Elements Antibacterial Hand Soap, liquid in a fish decorated pump bottle. The cacophony of homosexual angels may rejoice—in falsetto: AHH!
Dispensing the clear liquid into my hand and onto my body, things didn’t seem so bad—a minor wrench in the day. And lets not forget, I made one amazing crust last night. Daydreaming about its flakey texture, hints of thyme, the way it will elevate the quiche, nothing could go wrong. I turned off the water and reached for the towel….
FUCK! No towel.
Morals of the story
1) No matter how fabulous you are, something will go wrong.
2) Unless you want to run around the house naked, don’t start a project until you check that you have all the ingredients.
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