Oh dear. It was almost a Little Women moment last night. Do you remember the chapter towards the end of the book when Dear John unexpectedly brings home a work colleague to dinner and poor newly-married Meg has spent an entire day unsuccessfully trying to make jelly? And it all ends in tears? Well, thank heavens I'm 37 years old and have a sense of humor because otherwise you would have found me weeping over the jam pots last night.
My dear husband told me last night at seven-thirty that he had forgotten a promise to help our friend Michael with his wireless network. Could he bring Michael over to watch the football afterwards? Ever the perfect housewife (well until May 2 anyway) I thought quickly and came up with a way to stretch two fish filets to dinner for three. The 45 minutes he would spend at Michael's working on the network would give me time to whip something up and I'd have a chance to show off how versatile and talented I am. (God has a way of punishing you for those kinds of thoughts, doesn't he?) To top things off, I had been experimenting with stuffed mushrooms and so the dinner would look really elegant. Oh yeah.
Until the moment when I pulled my lovely fish casserole bubbling and creamy from the oven. And the handle on the casserole dish gave way in my hand. And the casserole went crashing down to the floor. And I started swearing.
Thank God for Domino's! I'm sure if they existed in the 19th century, my poor namesake from Little Women would have coped better.