Oh.
My.
God.
“Maybe we should use that recipe card that you suggested,” Aunt Cindy continues.
What a novel idea!
Trying not to grow irritated, I say, “Yes, I think that would be great.”
“It’s above the fridge, dear. Grab my recipe box.”
Gladly.
I reach above the fridge, feel around for a box, and when I find it, I pull it down and then bring it over to Aunt Cindy. I take a seat next to her as she thumbs through the cards.
While she searches for her recipe, I look around the familiar kitchen with its dark mahogany wood, pink-and-white damask wallpaper, and her rose-and-gray marbled counters that I thought were a bold choice when I was young but can appreciate now for their timeless charm.
The kitchen was always one of my favorite places that she decoratedbecause she matched the aesthetic to a gingerbread theme with her tea towels, cookie jars, and miniature winter village. It was playful and not as fussy with tradition as the front of her house. More whimsical, moreher.
“Ah-ha, here we are.” She lowers her reading glasses from the top of her head and places them over her eyes as she scans the recipe. “Goodness, yes, we were wrong with the one tablespoon of ginger.”
Funny how she uses the term “we” so loosely.
“Ah, and we do need allspice too.” She lifts her glasses. “You’re going to have to run to the Myrrh-cantile to grab some more eggnog and allspice.”
I saw that coming.
The wonderful thing about the Eggnog Wars is that we don’t have to make the eggnog ourselves, which I was worried about. They give a basic nog mixture to all the contestants, and it’s up to us to flavor it properly and give the judges a reason to choose ours based on the additions we make.
Which is great, because I have zero idea how to even begin the process of making eggnog—and I’m also not interested in learning it. I like the thick drink, but I’m not sure I want to know how it’s made.
I stand up from the table. “Do you need anything else while I’m out?”
“No, dear, I think that will be it.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Don’t be long—we have work to do.”
Cole
So she’s off to the store, looking for eggnog and allspice.
Perhaps she might run into someone who is not so nice.
“I’m nice.”
Narrator: Sir, I have the receipts to prove otherwise.
“You’re telling the story. If you’re not happy with my attitude, then change it.”
Narrator: Fine… How about this, then: Golly gee, what a glorious day it is. Do you hear those birds chirping, see the vibrant colors under their wings as they puff their feathery chests? It’s so beautiful, it makes me want to cry… That better?
“Don’t fucking do that again.”
Narrator: Then mind your own business and carry on.
