[This is a continuation of my last blog.]
I don't mind telling you that I have been in torment over those stupid buns since Thursday. The neighbour was gone all weekend and while she was away, I just kept stewing about those buns.
Finally, and thankfully, I was able to get her on the phone earlier today. A great relief because I was sure when I finished my confession I could return to a life without angst.
So after the customary bit of small talk, I decided the time had come to get down to the business of the buns. I began by telling my neighbour that I felt awkward and uneasy about something and for that something I felt I must apologize.
I then went on in great detail about the oil substitution and how the buns tasted so off to me, and it wasn’t a good thing because she had made such a nice meal for us and I fair ruined it by adding to the mix my ‘tainted buns’.
So now the buns were out-ed. Everything is back to normal. The tainted buns have been given justification for being tainted.
What a load off my chest!
And so, after all that, I wanted her to say as some of my commenters suggested she might say…(i.e. “It’s okay. Those things can and do happen”.)
But no, that is not what she said.
She said the buns tasted fine to her, and to her husband as well.
And even her adult son, who is the gourmet of gourmets had given an evaluation of the buns.
The adult son that studies cookbooks like they were exciting novels and in all his spare time evaluates and makes note of the preferred companionships and relationships of spices, oven heat, and cooking time.
This young man drives his mother to distraction. He would rather starve to death than eat, if all isn’t perfection. My neighbour gets quite impatient with his culinary demands. And he only relinquishes momentarily his study of cookery for a bit of shopping time to buy all the unique items that are a must for his lavish recipes. And so now, what did the gourmet say?
He wasn't home the night we had 'the supper', but he ate left-over buns the next morning and said they were perfection.
I am stunned when my neighbour tells me these assessments of the tainted buns. And then as I frantically review the incongruity of what is in my mind and what my neighbour is telling me, I am even more anxious than before.
My God, in my mind I thought I just apologized for a grave error. But maybe I didn’t do that at all. Maybe what I just did was inform the individuals at the heart of this story that they lack taste-buds sensitive enough to recognize the difference between good and bad food?
A bloody nasty and unfair criticism, considering as how I have a lack of something of greater value than sensitive taste buds.
Obviously what I lack is graciousness. Try as I might, I never seem to get it quite right.