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Wanted: Pastry-free Love

February 23, 2010

“…I managed to confuse the idea of patience with ‘stoic indifference.’ Really, though… from a practical point of view, it’s always so much easier to be patient when you bring along something to read. If you’re trying to be patient in a relationship, though, well…that’s another story. Maybe that’s when one needs to take up pastry.”

It gave me a start when I read that comment, posted to one of my blog entries. A fragile new thing was going on in my life, but was showing signs that made me…nervous. Nervous, and also slightly sad. Neither of which is something you want topping your list when falling in love. Soon enough, the fragile thing exposed its too-fragile side, and instantly fell apart. Since then, I have returned to this blog comment and considered what this stranger was trying to say, what current he or she had detected running through my recent stories, an obvious thing from which I was averting my gaze.

Food can become an all-too-easy metaphor, but as a lifetime member of The Over-Thinkers Club, I sometimes appreciate heavy-handed, clumsy things that smack like a palm against the table in front of me. Simple points that startle me from my overthinky reverie. Patience, pastry and love being one of those smacks.

Do I want to coyly read at a bar, dressed in a cute little secretary outfit with an inch of slip poking out, waiting for my man to join me for martinis? Absolutely.

But, do I want to cool my palms under running water, sprinkle a few drops over dough, carefully roll a crust without too much touching. Wreck the batch and toss it back into  the bowl, reflour the counter top and wooden pin. Cut in four fresh ounces of butter, this time not pinching so hard, curl the flat, pale crust into a halfmoon and lay it over the filled plate. Tinker. Tinker. Tinker. Then, pinch perfect fingerprints around to seal the crust…

…all the while wondering where things stand? Wondering if this is enough? Wondering why it feels like someone is tickling me between the ribs even though it’s been days since my man dropped his fingers for a touch? Wondering about words, wondering about gestures, wondering how long till the pie filling will thicken and bubble through the lattice crust?

No. No, thank you. Instead, I’ll turn my patience to watching for green shoots breaking the skin of my garden. To shushing a big, heavy sigh but not getting angry, each time my cat bolts through the apartment and fucks shit up. To waiting for the streetcar and imagining how soon bicycle season might arrive. To fiddling with my hair and predicting how many more days until I’ll get fed up with split ends and book myself in for a cut.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. lilboyblue permalink
    March 1, 2010 12:28 pm

    Lovely piece. I seemed to have misplaced my card for the Over Thinkers Club but I believe I’m eligible for membership.

    • welltailored permalink*
      March 1, 2010 12:29 pm

      Don’t worry, I’ve got your card. I think you dropped at my place last Monday after the third bottle of wine.

      ; )

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