The Pickle Jar

It was five am sharp when my alarm clock went off. “Oh, what a pleasure it is to wake up to the soft melody of Beethoven’s Fur Elise !” I thought to myself. I then turned to my side and carefully slipped out of bed. I had to be extremely cautious not to wake Richard up. Lord knows how cross he can get when he is woken up. And it is my duty to make sure he’s always pleased. Hence, every night before falling asleep I am sure to plug my earbuds into my cell phone and tuck each one inside both my ears. That way, Richard will not hear my alarm in the morning and he will get the beauty sleep that he very much deserves. Oh, excuse me! I meant to say he sleeps like a log. (Beauty sleep is much too feminine a term for a man like my husband). After all, he is the one who wears the pants in this family, he needs to be kept satisfied! Besides, you get used to the ringing in your ears after a couple months.

Anyhow, I was already late for making Richard’s three course breakfast! He cannot function without it. I swiftly took a shower in the small guest bathroom down the hall. The roof is a little low, and I tend to hit my head against it, but God forbid Richard showers in an already wet shower! What if he stepped on any puddles of cold water? He would not be very pleased, and that is something I just can’t accept. After that, I put on my pink polka-dot dress (the one Richard likes) and sprayed some pumpkin perfume on the front of my neck (even though it makes me sneeze). Richard says it reminds him of thanksgiving dinner, and he loves thanksgiving dinner! At 6am I was already breaking the eggs and thinking about what I would cook for dinner. It would take all day long to make dinner for Richard and his coworkers, and I didn’t even know what I was making! He did only tell me about this dinner party the night before, but I guess I must be prepared for any of these crazy ideas of his. Oh, dear Richard! How spontaneous he is.

Later on I decided on all the courses for this simple, five-course meal. For the hors d’oeuvres we would have smoked shrimp, then some zucchini soup, next a plate of steamed clams, after that a greek salad, for the main course I would serve beef stroganoff, and finally, crème brûlée for dessert. It was rather elementary but as I had little time, I just settled on this. The only obstacle was my silly temptation. It must be because I’m a woman! I was eager to join Richard and his coworkers as this meal made my mouth water, but I understand how important it is for Richard to have a dinner party sans interruptions.

Well, as I was about to start working on that greek salad of mine, catastrophe stroke and carried along all my hopes and dreams with it. When I headed for the pantry to fetch the pickles, I realised something that would make my whole world fall apart in a matter of seconds. The pickle jar was in the top shelf! I couldn’t believe my blue, almond-shaped eyes! How was I, with my petite figure and terse height, supposed to reach that pickle jar? I could probably stand on the wooden stool near the counter but I wouldn’t want to fall and break a nail. Or mess up my flawless blond locks! Richard wouldn’t find me fitting if I didn’t look perfect. That was when God blessed my mind with a solution so marvelous it might as well have come from the mind of a man. I could knock on the neighbors’ door, and ask Peter, their eldest son, to help me grab the jar of pickles!
It was brilliant, so I did.

After knocking on the front door I waited for exactly 17 seconds until Mary opened it. “Well hello Bonnie! It’s so nice to see you. Can I help you with anything?” “Good afternoon, Mary! You too. Why, yes actually. I was wondering if young Peter could help me reach the pickle jar in the top shelf of my pantry. You know what a burden those high shelves can be for us ladies.” We both chuckled delicately, like ladies do, and then Mary headed inside to call Peter. He sauntered down the hardwood staircase and met me at the door. “Good afternoon, Mrs Brown. It’s a pleasure to see you.” Peter saluted. “Oh, how courteous!” I thought to myself. “Well hello Peter. Thank you for helping me with my little hitch.” “You’re welcome, Ma’am.” He then said. I hurriedly strolled over to my kitchen and Peter followed. He so effortlessly reached for the jar of pickles and handed it to me kindly. I thanked him and he was off. I was so sure the crisis had been averted, but shortly after my relief, the next one came along.

I felt ready, and capable of making the greek salad now that Peter had helped me reach the pickle jar, but when I tried opening it I knew I was wrong. The lid wouldn’t come off! I now felt far too embarrassed to ask Peter for his help again. A young man like him must be very busy. So I cried. Heavy tears of shame and powerlessness ran down my porcelain like, rosy cheeks. I was doomed, with no men who could come to my rescue. This was, until I heard Richard’s car pull over in the driveway. The evening was saved! He walked in the kitchen to find all this turmoil. And even though he was somewhat concerned at first, he agreed to open the jar for me if I then hastily finished cooking dinner, and then got cleaned up (I guess he didn’t want his coworkers to see me like this). What a man! Am I right? Richard was my hero that day. That is why us women should always be of service to men; they are such pillars of strength!

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