Stressed Spelled Backwards Is Desserts. Coincidence?

Although my nickname in high school was “Becky Home Ec-y” and I did love a good HOMNO (HOme Making Night Out) as much as the next girl, I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was a food connoisseur, by any stretch of the imagination. I did however thoroughly enjoy baking and had learned that for me, spending time in the kitchen was tremendously therapeutic and salutary.

I found myself in the kitchen one particular morning dressed in my bedazzled apron, armed and ready with my KitchenAid, measuring cups, spoons and bowls…all to concoct a scrumptious, enchanting, summer-y dessert to take with me to a family picnic that my current “Flavor-Of-The-Month” had invited me to. His overly protective, incredibly fake, syrupy sweet Mom had asked if I would bring a dessert and because I consider myself an extreme overachiever, I of course was happy to oblige. I spent the next few hours stirring, mixing, taste-tasting, and measuring my way to what I deemed…”Ge’s-Explosion-In-The-Mouth-Achievement!” TWSS It was delicious! I had created a light, dulcet and fluffy trifle that was interspersed with mounds of fresh fruit. I then came up with a perfect combination of a whipped cream & cream cheese mixture that I layered with a homemade moist lemon cake that when amalgamated together was like a fusion of epic proportion.

It was a hit! Naturally. Which instantly gave me a celebrity-esque status at his family gathering…so much so that as we were gathering up our things to leave for the night his Mom pulled me aside and after ranting and raving over the dessert I had brought, kindly asked if I would be willing to make it again for a work party that she was hosting at the end of the following week. Now, all of you girls out there I’m sure are well aware of how thoroughly erratic the majority of the Mother’s of the boys that we date can be…which customarily means that we’ll go to great lengths to try and impress them when given the opportunity. I counted myself lucky that such an occasion had presented itself so early on and I knew immediately my time had come to try and make a superbly deep impact on Mr. Bi-Polar McLunaticMom’s Mother. I enthusiastically agreed and she notified me of the date and time she needed to have it delivered to her home by which I of course acquiesced to.

A few weeks later my assistant came into my office and cautiously inquired if I was currently still dating Mr. Passive VonMamma’sBoy, to which I hesitantly acknowledged in the affirmative. She then proceeded to pull out a newspaper clipping with a heading that read…

“Mother & Son Team Win Dessert Of The Year Award!”

Just below the caption was a picture of Sir Jerky VonThievery standing next to his crazy, deranged Mother…he was holding my much slaved over dessert, while she had her hands full with a 3 foot trophy in one hand and a $5,000 check in the other.

If your date (& his Mom) enter your dessert into an award winning contest and then take credit for it…

UNDATABLE!



Just Say No!

It was unavoidable, I suppose, that I would eventually meet a guy at a gas station…I mean, at this point I’m fairly certain I’d met a guy just about everywhere---grocery stores, a national pharmacy chain, a parking lot, the mall, driving down State Street, IHOP…why not add a gas station to the mix to really up the ante?!

I had just left a conference for work that was being held about 45 minutes away from my home, when much to my vexation I realized that my gas light had come on. To avoid being stranded on the side of the freeway, awaiting my knight-in-shining-armor…(who is obviously nothing more than a figment of my imagination)… to show up, gas can in hand, galloping up on his noble white steed to rescue me in one fell swoop, I thought it best to stop and fill my canteen…of sorts.

Now, despite being of Polynesian decent, I’m not the kind of girl who likes to stand idly by. So as my car was filling up I began cleaning my windshield, throwing out trash that had accumulated in the backseat and wiping down the leather interior, when I felt an unanticipated tap on my shoulder. As I gradually turned around there in front of me stood a guy who slightly resembled a mixture of Jesse James, a.k.a. “The ex Mr. Sandra Bullock” and a slightly chubbier version of Travis Barker from the now disbanded punk rock group “Blink 182”.

Mr. Tattoo McArmSleeve seemed nice enough, despite having a tattoo of an entire marijuana branch leafing all the way up his arm. He and I chatted for a little bit before he expressed interest in getting my phone number at which point I opted to change the subject by letting him know that I was in dire need of a Diet Coke to quench this irrefutable thirst I was currently experiencing. He offered to purchase my drink for me which I found to be charming and polite…but as I went to follow him into the gas station I was stunned to see a tattoo that I definitely wasn’t prepared for. There in front of me, inked across his neck was a symbol that took me totally off guard…the ‘Narcotics Anonymous’ logo informing the whole world exactly what personal demons Home Boy McDrugLord was battling on a daily basis.  

If your date has a Narcotics Anonymous sign tattooed on himself…

UNDATABLE!