I tried to adult this week and it didn’t go so well. Actually, for the most part, it was a complete shit-show.
I started the week with my “Low Tire Pressure” icon popping on. It’s a funny looking light. It looks like Bart Simpson’s head upside down, squished, with an exclamation point in the middle.
When I first noticed it, my heart stopped. I immediately thought the worst. I didn’t know what it meant, and I turned my music all the way down, listening for any strange sounds.
Then I noticed that where my mileage is usually displayed, a nice little note read “Low Tire Pressure”, which is a pretty cool feature for my little focus. I thought, “cool that’s easy to fix”…or so I thought.
I have seen people put air in their tires before. You put a dollar or two in the machine and attach the thingy to the tire, like filling up a bike.
I pulled up to an Irving K Station in Epping on my way home from my internship. It was around four in the afternoon, one of the busiest hours. Every pump was full and traffic was building. I wanted to get home because I still needed to get an oil change.
I pulled up to the air pump, which also had a vacuum on the other side. I put $1.25 in and waited for something to happen.
The hose turned on, louder than I thought it would sound like, so loud in fact, that I jumped and let out a girly shrill.
This hose, springy like a slinky, was dancing around in its little slot like a snake. I grabbed it, as if it were a snake, and put it between my knees while I leaned down to unscrew the cap on my tire.
I thought I knew what I was doing. Then I noticed that air was coming out of both sides of the knob, so I tried covering the other side while holding the opposite to the peg. I kept looking around me, someone was bound to watching me fumble.
I had no idea how much air I was putting in, or when to stop. I tired to get up and look at the screen but got tangled in the hose that was still situated between my legs, and fell into my car.
While dancing out of the tangles of the hose, I attempted to read the screen, which kept blinking 2-, 4-, 6-. What?!
So, I went back to what I was doing before, whatever it is I was doing, and tried the back tire on the drivers side. And, not sure how I did it, but got tangled yet again.
I got so embarrassed that I put the hose back in its slot, with the time still running and zoomed out of there like I had just robbed the place.
I haven’t told anyone about that embarrassing fail until just now, so yeah, that was cool. Sorry Alex, I know you are probably shaking your head.
Anyway, a few days later I thought I’d try a Pinterest soup my beautiful friend Kelly had made for me, a sausage and spinach soup. It was so great that I wanted to try it out for myself and Alex.
I figured that at some point I have to learn to expand my cooking horizons, you know, outside of chicken and pasta.
Alex joined me in the kitchen to put it together, like we normally do when we are cooking.
He cut the potatoes while I cut the peppers. He filled the pot while I prepared the sausage. We make a good team. First mistake though, I didn’t fry the sausage. I just cut it up and slid it in. Alex didn’t say anything. I put the spices in and Alex stirred. “Anything else?” he asked. I was mostly dumping and pouring, a technique I learned from my mom.
“Just the cream”, I responded.
He poured it in, stirred and let it sit.
We went back to our movie, “The Hills Have Eyes.”
After about twenty minutes or so, I went to check on the soup, and this is what I saw…
(Sorry for the blurriness, I was crying…)
I immediately called Kelly, going through every single step. She said, “Sammylynn! Everything sounds fine.” “But why is it clumpy?!” I said, “Oh, no…Sammylynn, did you put the cream in?” And I said, “Yes?” “You have to put the cream in at the end…otherwise it curdles….” Second mistake.
I stood in the doorway of the living room and looked at Alex with wide eyes and beckoned him back to the kitchen with me.
The first thing he said was, “Probably fat from the sausage you didn’t cook before you put it in the soup…” Low blow. “You didn’t say anything to me!” I defended. But he just laughed and said “I assumed you knew what you were doing!” I never do.
Again, he tried really hard not to laugh. I was a mess. I was trying not cry and turning redder by the second. I was so embarrassed. I was supposed to be feeding the whole house! How was I going to fix this? I couldn’t let the others see it like this.
Alex, being the problem solver as he is, went through every option, from straining it and going out to get more broth, to completely starting over. But me, being hungry and emotional, just wanted to throw it away. He wouldn’t let me. He told me to trust him. So, I did.
When it was finished, he poured the rest of the cream into the soup, and the cream that had curdled, was barely noticeable.
He walked into the living room to join everyone else, beaming and boasting about my “great soup.”
Although it was still edible and the squad still ate it, without a taste of disgust, I guess it was a lesson learned..
Read the directions instead of dumping and pouring, and ask Alex to teach me how to put air in my tires….