But then occasionally, she says something terrifying.
THE SEAMSTRESS: Twenty people are coming to our apartment on Saturday for games and fondue!
And they did. And the Seamstress made three kinds of fondue, including one made of special apple cheese and apple cider. We dipped apples in it. Obviously.
At the time, I thought that fondue-game-night-for-twenty-people was the most ambitious thing that the Seamstress could cook up. But oh, how wrong I was.
It started innocently enough, with this innocuous announcement:
THE SEAMSTRESS: I've invited some people over next Sunday for a luncheon so that I have an excuse to use my china.
Over the following week, small details were mentioned.
THE SEAMSTRESS: We're going to have cucumber sandwiches because that sounds fancy.
THE SEAMSTRESS: We're going to drink water with fruit in it, so hopefully it tastes good.
THE SEAMSTRESS: I think we'll have mini cheesecakes for dessert.
Then, one day, the Seamstress said, “I’m going to make roses out of tomatoes for the luncheon. I found a YouTube tutorial.”
And I was all, “This sounds like it could get dangerous.” But then I was all, “But how dangerous can it be really? It’s just a YouTube tutorial. She’ll be fine.”
Little did I know that tomato roses are the gateway drug to fanciness! Because the Seamstress made the tomato roses, as promised. But when Pepper and I came home on Saturday night after a fine evening with the improv troupe, we discovered that not only tomato roses but also lace tablecloth! And sliced cucumbers that had been raked with a fork! And real roses, fancy pink and white ones, in a beautiful vase! And the table was already being set for an event that was still a good sixteen hours away!
And the Seamstress, who is usually cheerful but pragmatic, was scarily euphoric. “Just don’t run into my china,” she said happily to me as I did my daily exercises. She didn’t whistle as she laid out the china, but she was probably whistling inside.
In addition to the china, she pulled out some glass goblets. “I only have enough teacups for six people,” she said, “but I lost track and I think I invited twelve.”
It was quickly becoming clear that the Seamstress was, indeed, in a terrifying and ambitious and fancy mood.
The next morning, when I got up to get ready for church, she was already joyfully slicing the fruit for the water. And when I came home from church, she was slicing bread and pulling out flavored cream cheese that she had apparently prepared the night before because it’s not like she was busy making tomato roses and slicing cucumbers and setting tables or anything.
And Pepper and I were all, “Can we help make the cucumber sandwiches?”
And the Seamstress was all, “Yes, we are making three different kinds of cucumber sandwiches because I found three recipes and I wanted to try them all!”
Naturally.
“And we are also going to turn the tomato roses into sandwiches!”
Naturally. What’s a Sunday-luncheon-turned-tealess-tea-party without four kinds of sandwiches? A disgrace, obviously.
“And also prepare the mini cheesecakes, which shall be topped with raspberries!”
Not that she said “shall.” But in my mind she did. Also, in my mind, there was a manic glint in her eye.
We quickly got done to business at slicing, chopping, spreading, and sprinkling lemon pepper and mint and dill liberally on everything except actually only on sandwiches. All three of us stayed in our church skirts, because of course you must wear a pretty skirt to such a fancy party.
We finished and arranged everything just as our guests arrived. Our guests were also wearing mostly skirts. They were delighted by everything that the Seamstress had thought up and then put into action with her own two hands, including the tasty cucumber sandwiches.
We had a rousing discussion about said cucumber sandwiches (“The bread is mostly air, and the cucumbers are mostly water,” said the Seamstress, “which is why they could only be an aristocratic food,”) and about our favorite colors and about passages of scripture we enjoyed. Everyone went back for seconds. I kept my pinky extended the entire time.
It was delightful. It was the fanciest thing I’ve ever helped host. And after the afternoon came off as a success, the terrifyingness of the Seamstress’s obsession with the perfect tea party faded down into a glimmer of satisfaction. She was back to normal.
Until next time. Something like this is bound to happen again. So in the meantime, I am going to try to convince her to love sushi so that the next time she whips into a frightful frenzy, it’s over making homemade sushi and hand-carved chopsticks. And then she’ll probably sew us all kimonos. And take us to Japan.
P.S. If for some reason you should need any sliced cucumbers, we have approximately 30,000,000.
Fancy! Cool pictures. Cucumber sandwiches are my fave.
ReplyDeleteIt was really fun!
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