Stone Soup

Two weeks ago Sunday, I got a call. "If you've got any apples left, why don't you bring them to me? I'll bake you some pies for Thanksgiving."

In our marriage, the kitchen duties were pretty clear-cut: My ex baked pies, cakes, and cookies; I did everything else.* Truth be told, I was probably as good a baker as she was, but I deferred to her in the baking arena simply so that there could be something in the kitchen she would do.

So I was planning on baking as well during this, my first truly solo holiday in decades. In fact, I was heading out with my daughter to the local cider mill to get some apples when the phone rang. But since she offered, I thought: 'why not?.' I dropped off several pounds of apples with the kids when they went over for the weekend.

One week ago today I got a call. "Could you let me borrow your apple peeler? I don't have one." I could have told her to just use a knife, but after getting assurances that she would indeed return the utensil to me (since it's also my potato peeler), I thought: 'why not.' I would drop the peeler off with the kids on Wednesday night.†

Six days ago I got an email. "Could you go to the store and buy me a peeler? The kids will want to help, so I'll need two. Also, could you pick up some cinnamon and nutmeg? I'll pay you back." By this time, we had already eaten the remaining apples, and I'd already agreed to so much, that I figured it would be easier to go along, so I decided: 'why not?'ª

So, on Wednesday, I drop off the kids, two apple peelers, and two spices to go with the apples I had already delivered to make our Thanksgiving pies. At least I won't have to bake them, I thought.

That night, in the middle of my job, I get a call. "It's an emergency." My heart skips a beat. I imagine my son getting cut on a knife, my daughter getting burned at the stove. "I need light corn syrup."º

I don't know about any of you, but for me, there are very few instances where the phrase 'I need light corn syrup' should ever follow the phrase 'It's an emergency,' unless, perhaps (and only perhaps) it is followed by the phrase 'so that you can lick it off my supple, nubile body.'

This was most definitely not one of those instances.

But, I had already supplied the apples, the peelers, the cinnamon and the nutmeg, so I thought: 'fuck you.'

However, that's not what said, so after the game I went to the store, and purchased the light corn syrup, a product which will now forevermore be linked with the phrase 'supple, nubile body' in your minds.

While at the store, I had one of the few moments of what could possibly pass for clarity in this whole sorry episode, and I called my ex-wife on the phone. "I've got the light corn syrup,ˇ" I said, in a moderate, well-modulated tone, "is there anything else that you need?"

"Umm...yeah. Could you pick up some pie crusts?"

I ended up baking them myself on Thursday morning.

yeharr

*including the dishes.

†our divorce agreement stipulates that she has the right of first refusal to watch the kids whenever I have freelance jobs in the evening--and I had such a job Wednesday night.

ªIt was at the store that I discovered that the only real difference between nutmeg and gold is that one of them tastes good in pie. Price-wise, there's not much separation.

ºIn case the culinary of you are wondering, she also planned on baking us a pumpkin pie as well.

ˇsupple, nubile body.