Yesterday, MJ and I were invited to dinner at the home of some new friends — a really nice gal with two young children — whom we met at our local park. It was sort of like a first date, but family style. Of course, I wanted to make a good impression, and didn’t want to come empty-handed, so I decided to bake my “famous” — in my mind, at least — oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies. Yes, it was a thousand degrees outside, but I had no time to get to the store. My repertoire is limited at the best of times, and with nothing in the cabinets my choices were the cookies or a can of soup. I decided to brave the heat.
Unfortunately, I forgot to leave the butter out in the morning. So when MJ went down for her nap at one and I headed for the kitchen to bake, I realized I would have to find a way to accelerate the softening. Sure, I could leave it out on the counter for a couple of hours, but dinner was at five — who says early bird specials are just for old people? — thus I needed to bake sooner than that. So I did the only logical thing. I took my two sticks of butter , walked out the front door, and placed them on our concrete front steps.
Then I checked my e-mail. And had some lunch. And cleaned the stove. And — you guessed it — I sort of lost track of time. And it really was quite warm outside. Warmer than I realized, even. The long and the short of it was that, by the time I remembered my butter and went running to the front door, I found that it had melted quite substantially. As in, basically liquefied. And, since I am a genius and a domestic rock star, I had not bothered to put it on a plate. I mean, it was wrapped in paper and everything. It was perfectly sanitary. Or would have been, if it had stayed in its package. But now most of it was puddled there on the step, in all of its unctuous splendor.
I managed to save the cookies. But the front step wasn’t so fortunate. There’s a large grease stain there now. And it’s surprisingly stubborn. I mean — full disclosure — I haven’t actually tried washing it off or anything. Still, I would have thought it would’ve gone away by now. It looks just like water. Why must it act so…other?
Somehow I feel like Martha Stewart doesn’t have these problems.
On the other hand, I think I can see a face in it. It looks a bit like John Lennon. Perhaps I should start a shrine.
If the Dawn detergent doesn’t work I think I will.