Two down, one to go. It's like I hit the holiday misery trifecta or something. Anyhoo, the Christmas cards should be arriving sometime around Valentine's Day. Most of the gifts have gone out, except one, which is going to be quite late I'm afraid.
"It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year"...
Really, it is.
So I ventured out today (no, no, I'm not foolish enough to drive myself, I recruited my husband and son to chauffeur me about) which was pleasant enough until I remembered (about 45 minutes into it) that I really wasn't feeling my best and gosh, don't they really keep it excessively warm inside these public spaces?
Know what's amusing? The grocery store ten days before Christmas when everyone suddenly decides they're going to bake-including those who don't know which end of a spoon to stir with. It was fun, sort of like Filene's Basement the day after Thanksgiving. All the pushing and shoving and elbows trying to make certain they grab all the confectioner's sugar that can be carried away in their little Christmas sweater adorned arms. I saw some really embellished sweaters/sweatshirts on display today. I always wanted a pair of Christmas earrings that looked like ornaments, or lights but never have gone ahead and bought a pair. I'm probably a few years off from the Christmas sweater/sweatshirt, but I have been known to put my hair in a roller set, or worse, a braid-so who knows, maybe I'm getting older than I think.
Anyway (I do tend to tell very long, pointless stories, don't I?) the baking aisle was madness, and being sort of fragile these days and too much of a pacifist to consider getting into the whole grocery-carriage-derby scene, I pulled over to the side and let the puss drain away. Sorry, that was gross. That's what my husband used to call it when he'd let the first train go by that was overly full and take the second, less crowded. The first one became known as the puss drainer. What was I talking about...oh yeah, the baking aisle at Hy-Vee.
Right. What's remarkable is watching the things people actually buy. Part of me, the mum probably, wants to grab them by their bejewelled sweatshirts and plead with them to not purchase the frosting in the aerosol can. Ditto the pre-melted fake chocolate in a cup for dipping. I want to invite them over for a cup of coffee and a baking lesson. I'm tempted to scribble down a frosting recipe and slip it in their carriages. I want to warn them that it won't work and will just frustrate them worse than making the melted chocolate on the stove top (or the microwave for heaven's sake). I didn't, but good golly, I really wanted to. Pre-made frosting with those awful screw-on tips is sort of the baking equivalent to hair colouring-you don't get professional results buying it in a place that sells alcohol, motor oil and diapers. Drugstore hair colouring keeps colourists in business, and pre-made frosting and royal icing from a tin or tube in the grocer keeps the local bakery thriving. They don't work-at least not the way you want them to. Do you really want your cookies to be the orange roots, or green tinged adventure with Sun-In? I didn't think so.
As I stood aside watching the chaos, a woman who had also stepped aside looked over at me, my cart piled with bags of flour, sugar and yeast.
"Looks like someones doing her Christmas baking." She said cheerfully.
(Somewhat taken by surprise) "No...I finished mine last weekend, this is just the regular baking."
And the, because I didn't already sound like enough of an arrogant food snob, I added:
"Except for the mincemeat, which I stir on Mondays and add another dram of brandy. Otherwise, I'm done."
Yikes.
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