Sexless in the country
Yes, ya’ll, there’s good reason for my silence this week. And it’s not just the holidays. You see, since Monday night I’ve been cloistered with the fam, out on my grandparents’ parcel of land in rural western Washington. So rural you get no cell signal of any kind until you’re in the nearest small town.
It is nice to be out in such, uh, rusticity, I ’spose — just not so great for blogging.
At least not on the face of it. I mean here I am, with only immediate and extended family for company ... not much chance of blog-worthy adventures, right? Sure, I got to have coffee with my main man (Dad) yesterday afternoon, but that’s not quite the same.
Then yesterday my grandfather brings out the array of vibrating massage tools he and my grandmother have somehow inherited or collected, and I knew my readership need not be disappointed. ;)
The best part came mid-morning today though, while I was pottering around the kitchen, making individual cups of coffee for my siblings and I in the mini French press my sister brought down (the grandparentals barely take in caffeine of any kind, except for what’s in chocolate. In fact I was shocked their instant coffee was actually a prior-to-this-visit unopened container; last time the jar was vintage 70s, I swear).
I’m focused on the coffee when I come in on the middle of some conversation about cake. Grandpa’s angling for chocolate cake, but Grandma says it’s not his birthday. “Jesus doesn’t like chocolate,” I deadpan, guessing at the occasion. (It turns out the cake is for a joint celebration of all the birthdays missed — mine, my sister’s, my brother’s, and so on — never mind that mine’s in July.) But Grandma’s more intent upon the business of the cake. “You like this cake,” she asserts to Grandpa.
And with good reason. But the reason was not immediately apparent. At first Grandma was merely describing the cake, which involves pineapple drizzled over a yellow cake, and various decadent toppings such as pudding and cool whip. She kept referring to it as “Martha’s Cake.”
But somehow it came out that this was actually a renaming of the cake, which an infamous family friend (known for the legendary Broadway family pie crust) had created. Grandma was acting funny about the original name.
“So what was it?” I badgered her. Finally she fessed up: Better Than Sex Cake. Martha had been the man’s wife, so Grandma deemed this a more-appropriate name. You can expect me to remain coy about any cake-sex comparisons, but if you’re lucky maybe I’ll try my hand at making the cake, and share some with blog readers. In fact, maybe that could be the Blog Reader World Series prize ...
You see, it’s kind of a puzzle for me. Poster Boy maintains it has to be something worth him competing for, but refused to give any suggestions other than encouraging creativity on my part. Although on second thought, asking him for advice is a guarantee of poor participation. This month I use his idea for the contest, and not a single bloomin’ entry do I get! Don’t be inspired by his example, though. Get your entries in for this week! How hard can it be to explain my bruises? Reader Jay’s already taken a stab, and I’m not sure he even means it as a contest entry ...
But as for the BRWS prize, I can’t continue with food. This needs to top all the prizes somehow! Although my grandpa thinks it would be funny to mail the winner two dates (the food kind) and hint about a possible third one in the offing (not necessarily the food kind). Other relatives think I should offer a blind date, and Little Brother Broadway thinks I should offer a date with our 105-year-old great grandmother: “She’s single!” But yeah, I don’t see any of those options happening.
So, readers, thoughts on this conundrum? Consider it your holiday gift to me to make some suggestions. And no, I will not consent to making slippers. Besides, California and Australia are simply too warm for most knit goods ....
Coming later this week: why Gramps concludes I’m more cut out for Naval service than joining up the Marines (as two of my sibs have done).
It is nice to be out in such, uh, rusticity, I ’spose — just not so great for blogging.
At least not on the face of it. I mean here I am, with only immediate and extended family for company ... not much chance of blog-worthy adventures, right? Sure, I got to have coffee with my main man (Dad) yesterday afternoon, but that’s not quite the same.
Then yesterday my grandfather brings out the array of vibrating massage tools he and my grandmother have somehow inherited or collected, and I knew my readership need not be disappointed. ;)
The best part came mid-morning today though, while I was pottering around the kitchen, making individual cups of coffee for my siblings and I in the mini French press my sister brought down (the grandparentals barely take in caffeine of any kind, except for what’s in chocolate. In fact I was shocked their instant coffee was actually a prior-to-this-visit unopened container; last time the jar was vintage 70s, I swear).
I’m focused on the coffee when I come in on the middle of some conversation about cake. Grandpa’s angling for chocolate cake, but Grandma says it’s not his birthday. “Jesus doesn’t like chocolate,” I deadpan, guessing at the occasion. (It turns out the cake is for a joint celebration of all the birthdays missed — mine, my sister’s, my brother’s, and so on — never mind that mine’s in July.) But Grandma’s more intent upon the business of the cake. “You like this cake,” she asserts to Grandpa.
And with good reason. But the reason was not immediately apparent. At first Grandma was merely describing the cake, which involves pineapple drizzled over a yellow cake, and various decadent toppings such as pudding and cool whip. She kept referring to it as “Martha’s Cake.”
But somehow it came out that this was actually a renaming of the cake, which an infamous family friend (known for the legendary Broadway family pie crust) had created. Grandma was acting funny about the original name.
“So what was it?” I badgered her. Finally she fessed up: Better Than Sex Cake. Martha had been the man’s wife, so Grandma deemed this a more-appropriate name. You can expect me to remain coy about any cake-sex comparisons, but if you’re lucky maybe I’ll try my hand at making the cake, and share some with blog readers. In fact, maybe that could be the Blog Reader World Series prize ...
You see, it’s kind of a puzzle for me. Poster Boy maintains it has to be something worth him competing for, but refused to give any suggestions other than encouraging creativity on my part. Although on second thought, asking him for advice is a guarantee of poor participation. This month I use his idea for the contest, and not a single bloomin’ entry do I get! Don’t be inspired by his example, though. Get your entries in for this week! How hard can it be to explain my bruises? Reader Jay’s already taken a stab, and I’m not sure he even means it as a contest entry ...
But as for the BRWS prize, I can’t continue with food. This needs to top all the prizes somehow! Although my grandpa thinks it would be funny to mail the winner two dates (the food kind) and hint about a possible third one in the offing (not necessarily the food kind). Other relatives think I should offer a blind date, and Little Brother Broadway thinks I should offer a date with our 105-year-old great grandmother: “She’s single!” But yeah, I don’t see any of those options happening.
So, readers, thoughts on this conundrum? Consider it your holiday gift to me to make some suggestions. And no, I will not consent to making slippers. Besides, California and Australia are simply too warm for most knit goods ....
Coming later this week: why Gramps concludes I’m more cut out for Naval service than joining up the Marines (as two of my sibs have done).
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