For some strange reason, tonight I feel like I am aging backwards. Somehow during this month of domestication, I have contracted a rare aged disease where I biologically grow younger over time. I guess you could call it the ‘Curious Case Of Sewing On A Button.’
Unfortunately for Jenn, the stunning good looks of Mr. Angelina Jolie were not a side effect of this change. On the other hand, we are thankful that no orphans from third world countries appeared on our front porch screaming, “Mommy! Daddy!”
Where was I? Oh yeah. Instead of coming to grips with my thirties, I find myself an adolescent desperately trying to achieve a passing grade in Home Economics. Maybe this time around the results will be better. Considering I set the bar extremely low in 12th grade, chances are good I can rise above the previous disaster of jammed sewing machines, fire extinguisher glazed chicken and three legged jeans.
The original plan for my final semester of high school involved doing as little work as possible. Having already been accepted to college, my intent was to coast until graduation day. The schedule involved: guitar class, journalism and then serving as a teacher’s aide for two blocks. The last part is what got me in trouble, as the only thing I was actually ‘aiding’ was unproductivity.
Apparently, for whatever reason, the school system frowned upon a student spending the majority of their day reading People magazines until they fall asleep on the couch in the teacher’s lounge. Once the guidance counselor caught on to my plan, he insisted that I pick a class where I would learn something other than the latest gossip from the set of Beverly Hills 90210.
The choices he gave me were Biology, Calculus or Home Economics. That is close to a no brainer as one can get. On top of the guy to girl ratio being skewed in my favor, I figured how challenging could it be to create a door stop out of pottery, cook some spaghetti, do some laundry and hem a pair of pants. After all, I figured I wasn’t going to use any of this stuff in the real world anyway, right? Yet, having spent the past 15 minutes trying to thread a needle, the irony of it all hasn’t been lost on me.