Husbands are such wonderful topics for girl-talk (meow...meow). My own husband (bless his heart) is an endless treasury of gems. Okay! I’m not perfect either; but I have a website, and he does not. So, grab a cup of coffee and I’ll tattle a bit about why the men we love can drive us crazy and make us laugh all at the same time.
The incident took place in San Antonio, TX around 1978, when some dear friends of ours came for a visit. They were former residents of San Antonio who moved to the icy climes of a small town in Missouri. Naturally, the need to re-Texify afflicted them on a somewhat semi-annual basis. During such visits, Tex-Mex food was always high on the agenda along with the Mariachi Mass celebrated at Mission San Jose.
The day began bright, warm, clear, low humidity. Since the calendar said Sunday, we arose early, with a well-designed plan to prepare a full breakfast and still have time to do breakfast and clean up four adults and three children to an acceptable level for the Mariachi Mass. We were joyous and completely confident that we could present sparkling, well-fed faces to God, and born-again appetites to whichever Tex-Mex restaurant we fancied for lunch.
Organization. Yes, organization would be the key to success! Assignments would be fairly assessed.
Kids: Set the table.
Adults: Concentrate on food preparation and presentation to the best of your ability. The menu for breakfast would be the classic choice: Scrambled Eggs, Bacon, Sausage, Toast, Coffee, Tea, Juice, and Milk.
Synchronize movements. No wasted motion.
Find and utilize: Coffee Pot, Tea Kettle, Glasses, Mugs, Griddle, Bowl, etc.
The troops fell-in and the duty roster announced. All started well. We proudly proclaimed ourselves a mean, lean breakfast machine.
It was a sight to behold. We became a symphonic perfection -- such beautiful, graceful action figures dancing in perfect rhythm to the music of our common goal.
Then I made a perfectly clear, sweet request to my husband. “Honey,” said I, “please put a dozen eggs in this bowl so I can scramble them; and be careful with the shells.”
Each had their own jobs to attend to, so no one monitored Honey’s movements....until....it was time to scramble the dozen. I called for the bowl. The bowl arrived....complete....with 12 eggs beautifully stacked, completely ensconced, in their original shells.
I was at once shell-shocked, and babbled something about ‘lack of competent help.’ All work came to a standstill as the bowl was inspected. Yes, the eggs were, indeed, inside that bowl. Yes, the shells were safe and secure. No, they were not ready to be scrambled. Then the laughter began.
Poor HONEY scored one, again, for the hapless husbands of the world.
“Hey, I did what you said: Put the eggs in the bowl. Was careful of the shells. You never said to break open the eggs.” He said this with a straight face, and a look of complete innocence.
Now, I ask you: “Don’t you just have to LOVE the guy?”
We razzed him all through breakfast. We broke out in giggles during Mass. We even thought about offering his food interpretation skills to the nearest House of Omelets. Many years have passed since then, but every so often, our friends will phone with the question: “How’s old eggs-in-a-bowl?!”
And so, we live...we love...we laugh...and keep treasured memories such as this in a very special place in our hearts. Oh, yes! There is no doubt in my mind that the HONEYS of this world keep our lives interesting and worthwhile.