Last night I received a cryptic email from a complete stranger (we haven’t met yet, have we? if this is the way you’re going about it, I think we might never meet) asking me to log on to a website (oh like I need another website username and password to forget) to sign up to cook meals for Desdemona, a neighbor (one block east, one block north).
Hold the horses. I had only heard that Des had been in hospital a couple of days ago. Weren’t we rushing things a bit? I am The Woman Who is Out of the Loop and For Good Reason (also known as a very bad carpooler). I guess I would liked to know that Des had been ill, before strangers started trying to sign me up to cook dinner, that is to say, how about making me a member of the ‘let’s pipe over to hospital to visit Des and cheer her up’ brigade for at least ten minutes before tapping me to join the ‘tuna noodle casserole’ brigade.
Unfortunately, I don’t know Des all that well, at least I don’t know her well enough to be included in the circle of people who knew that she was hospitalized. Couldn’t the same technology that is being used to ask me to sign up to cook (oh, twist my arm, please) also have been used to let me know that there was a problem to begin with? I have the creeping feeling that I’m good for the business part, but not for the cheering up and commiserating part of things.
I’m afraid I don’t get it. Sometimes the world seems like a big fraternal order where I don’t know the secret handshake. I like Des. She’s a nice person and her children, Cordelia and Will, never fail to completely ignore me when I run or drive past their house. A lot of teenagers are that way, so it’s nothing personal, but it doesn’t make me want to rush over with a tub of frozen lasagna and some salad in a box. By the way, I don’t think I would recognize her husband, Chris, but that’s what happens when you’ve never met someone, isn’t it? You don’t recognize them. Just the same, I’m sure Chris is also a nice person.
One thought baffles me–what have the Marlows been doing for meals since Des was hospitalized?
I also find myself wondering if this is a gender-based list? Big mistake. The real cooks in this house are Skip and Tad. Not me. Too bad they didn’t ask Skip to cook for the Marlows. He is really a much better cook than I am, because he cares. These dark winter nights, my idea of dinner is Boars Head brats, applesauce, French bread, Dijon mustard and a green salad. All of which the Marlows could do perfectly fine themselves without me waving a packet of overpriced brats at them and calling it dinner.