I take my twist with a shout.

Many a belated event to blog about today. Which I'm sure all of you are on tenterhooks about.

Numero Uno.

Many Happy (meh, belated) Returns of the Day, Mum!

Look at this saucy photo I got of her from her oldest bro's wedding. What a dish! I'll claim those genetics anyday, yes ma'am!

If I turn out 49% as wonderful as she is, I'll be one lucky lady. My sister Merzy put it very accurately and eloquently when she said, "People ask me if there is any fault to be found with my Mom. The only fault I can find is that she has the tendency to occasionally burn a pot of broccoli. Beyond that, she really is perfect."

To which I would add, "But even when she burns broccoli, she does it without error."

Happy Birthday Momsy Pie, from one of your kittens.

Numero Dos: Valentine's Day.

A mish-mash surprise of Stake Conference, Chinese food, and the all-too-eager-to-commercialize-off-a-Catholic-holiday-flick, "Valentine's Day" (yes, we joined the herd, and mooed in unison).

It was, altogether, delicious. Harry bought me a gargantuan Diet Coke and shared his nachos with me.

On the actual February 14, we concocted our newest domestic masterpiece: Sichuan Pork with noodles.

An explosion of porkiness. In all connotations.

Then we topped it off with

Homemade Vanilla Pudding with blackberries and a smattering of crumbled graham cracker crust.

All is going fine and dandy in our corner of the US. The one and only real recent fly in the ointment occurred this past Thursday, and it has prompted a letter to spring forth from my keyboard.

Dear Coworker X:

Thursday’s insult was not the first. But I decided afterwards, that if your demeaning and patronizing words are good enough to be spoken aloud while I’m doing YOUR dishes in the kitchen, they are good enough to be posted on the internet. Immortalized, even.

As much as you think I want you to yell at me because of things like the coffee machine not being clean enough or the printer being out of paper (things that you yourself are capable to fixing when the need arises because you DO have functioning limbs and my desk is on the opposite side of the office), I find it a most rotten aspect of this job.

To put a cherry on top of all of these humiliating episodes, on Thursday you cornered me in the midst of my sudsing your sullied flatware, pinched my hip, and said, “Is it getting to you?”

“Is what getting to me?” I replied.

“The food here. I can tell you’ve put on weight. I can see your muffin tops when you sit.”

I don’t think I responded, but the shock was no doubt written all over my face. You continued to say, “You know, there’s a lot of food here, and some people just don’t have any willpower. But look at me. I only eat one piece of chocolate for dessert and I don’t feel like I’m sacrificing.”

I don’t remember saying anything other than, “Okay.”

Before you turned on your heel and left, you did say, “Just thought you ought to know.”

Ooooh. There are many things that you ought to know yourself, Coworker X. After all of the demoralizing things you’ve said to me, and the fact I’ve never ever done anything in retaliation except smile back at you and say, “Sure, thanks for letting me know,” I find it so stymieing that you find it necessary to twist the knife.

Twist and shout indeed.

I have a friend for you to hang out with. I call him/her the Cretin. He/she steals purses and Bibles. I’m sure HE/SHE could benefit from the things you have to say. And they way you choose to say them.

Most sincerely,

SAR

Happy Saturday, one and all!