My friend Brian used to introduce me to others with a story about how I once served him a moldy cheese sandwich. Really Bri? I totally cut the mold off before I served it to you!
James scolded me the other night for trying to serve – albeit, unopened – Trader Joe’s guacamole with our fish tacos that happened to expired in early December. “Do it for the baby!” he cried. Ugh. Decisions.
My sister called me “Mom” the other day, further proving that I am my mother’s child – why can’t I just cut off that chunk of mold on the cheese and call it good to go? Do expiration dates really matter? But it smells fine! [Side note: Aleah also now makes a point of it to go through the fridge when she’s visiting the parentals – apparently the fondue Mom tried to serve this past Christmas from 2008 further confirmed that decision.]
So why do I open myself up to blame, criticism, along with a potential lack of dinner dates, at least for and of those whom I’ve invited over? Because today I found that I’m not alone. Hallelujah. I think we might form a secret club.
You see, I finally found a hairdresser here in California who didn’t believe that my non-Asian insanely thick Northern European hair deserved a decidedly Asian haircut. And, as happens with stylists, if you find that perfect hair person, you not only gain a good “outfit you can wear everyday,” but you gain a new friend. You don’t just talk about the weather, but you catch up on life and talk about weddings and babies and even the 49ers because you hear the fans screaming from Paddy Flynn’s next door. And then all of the sudden, you somehow cross over some threshold and who knows how it starts, but you find that you have in common a similar love for food – and for not wanting food to go to waste. You find that you’re both of the same philosophy that if it smells okay, looks okay, and if the little white spots can be picked off, then you’ve still got the potential for an incredible meal.
So over your hour and a half together, you’re now laughing and crying and scaring the stylist and her customer in the next chair over, along with potentially ruining all friendships now that you’ve now made your secret public. But you don’t care because you’re not alone. You both believe that your stomachs have been made stronger because of said food you’ve ingested (as evidenced by your respective husband and boyfriend who happen to both have weak stomachs). And she’s delighted because she doesn’t normally get to share such information with her customers, and you’re just like, “Girrrrrl. You’ve gained a customer for life!”
You’d better believe she got a good tip. I hope she buys a brand new hunk of cheese with that cash.