Butternut disaster

Last night was the second time Brad and I and our friends Joel and Bekka met for dinner party club (man, we really need to think more about what to call this - really, "dinner party club"? Ew). Since Bekka and I cooked last time Brad and Joel were up yesterday. When I came home in the afternoon I peeked in Brad's grocery bag and was a little bit shocked to see not pizza dough or hamburger buns or taco shells, but butternut squash, red onion, and artisan bread. I had been wondering how things would turn out, because we have two guys who eat meat and don't do much cooking, and two girls who don't and love to cook, but the groceries showed a lot of potential for vegetarian delights.

When Bekka and Joel got here the ladies sat at the table eating an appetizer of bread and several bread dipping options served in ramekins (Brad: "Joel, we're going to put this stuff in ramekins." Joel: "A ramekin? What's a ramekin?" Bekka: "Joel, you know, like the big white one I have." Joel: "A ramekin? What's that?" Repeat.) I had just decided to get out the camera and take a picture of the boys in the kitchen when, while attempting to peel the squash, Brad sliced his whole finger off.

It wasn't really his whole finger, but a pretty serious, very gushy cut in his left middle finger. Squash fell on the ground, Bekka and I ran around looking for bandages and tape, and Joel examined the wound. It bled a lot for a while, and then they ended up wrapping it tightly in gauze and securing it with duct tape.

Of course this would be the one month of our entire lives when Brad doesn't have health insurance. That's right: this is the one time EVER that Brad hasn't had medical insurance. He's in an off month between being covered through his old job and the new one, and when he went to apply for temporary coverage to get him through October, he was already past the deadline, so here we are, just waiting for November 1. Joel thought he might possibly "need a stitch." Would we have seriously considered the possibility of stitches if he were covered this month? I think so. It was bleeding a lot. But knowing it's 8 pm on a Friday night and the only thing open is probably the super expensive emergency room limits what you're willing to seriously consider.

Very professional bandaging

For the time being dinner preparations just went on. I jumped in and did some quick peeling of the squash while all of the chaos was going on, and then got out of the kitchen so the guys could finish up. They made Warm Butternut Squash and Chickpea Salad (as seen on Smitten Kitchen, who got it from Orangette, who got it from somewhere else), and it was DELICIOUS. The tahini dessing is fantastic. Everything about it is fantastic. Except that there aren't any leftovers for me to eat today.

Ramekins!

This salad might cost you a finger, but it's worth it

For dessert we ate brownies and ice cream, and then Bekka and I went to the store and bought some New-Skin, and when we woke up this morning Brad's finger was still attached - so far, so good. Because if he loses a digit over peeling squash for dinner party club, it could really cast a pall over the whole operation.

There is more to life than food...

...But apparently that's all I want to blog about. First, a quick Fresh Abundance update: I forgot to order my fourth variety box last week. But I still had a few things left from previous weeks (potatoes and yams, a couple of pears, celery, onion, a couple of peppers, Swiss chard), so I made a delicious minestrone out of most of that stuff (no pears or potatoes or yams) with a recipe I modified a lot out of Gourmet. Because really, I just don't have two hours to spend on soup most days. I also don't eat pancetta. So instead of cooking the first group of ingredients (through chard stems) for a leisurely 45 minutes, I went with about 15. The soup was still delicious. In your face, Gourmet! Maybe a few tips from me would have saved your little magazine.

That was a joke.

And on to the main event! Cookies. I made some flourless oatmeal cookies last week and they were a big hit. I was a little nervous because I hadn't gotten to taste the cookies before I brought them to class the night I baked them, but they were very popular and also, I am in love with them. I made about 50 cookies with the amount of ingredients shown below. The original recipe is for "monster cookies" but I think mine were just people-sized cookies. I also used a combination of white and dark chocolate chips instead of other chocolate candies - and I'm pretty sure I used WAYYYYYYYYY more than the one cup originally called for. Probably more like one cup of each kind of chocolate. Probably more like one cup of chocolate per cookie. Brad and I ate every single cookie that I didn't take to class, too - and that doesn't usually happen. If you knew for certain that there were no traces of gluten in your oats (like Bob's Red Mill, or quelque chose comme ca), these would also be officially gluten free.

Peanut Butter Oatmeal Monster Cookies
About 4 dozen cookies

1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, slightly softened
1 1/2 cups creamy natural peanut butter, well-mixed
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup white sugar
3 eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla
2 teaspoons baking soda
4 1/2 cups old fashioned oats
About 2+ cup chocolate or mix-ins (follow your heart)

Preheat oven to 350F and line two large cookie sheets with parchment paper (or Silpat).

Cream butter, peanut butter, and sugars. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Beat in baking soda, then oatmeal and mix-ins.

Drop onto cookie sheets with an ice cream scoop and flatten slightly. Bake at 350F for 8-10 minutes or until done. Do not overbake! Don't you dare!

Remove from oven when slightly golden. Let cool on the sheets for a few minutes until they have firmed up enough to remove to wire racks.

Rings like trees

Well world, I am way into my second produce variety box, and you know what that means: I just ate my first beet ever. I roasted beets in the oven today, how crazy is that? My only real beet knowledge comes from seeing them dying in their own sick bloody juice in salad bars. They have always looked way too disgusting to consider eating. But I decided that I'll try everything that comes in my variety box, so today, it's beets.

The one I just ate was golden yellow inside, and a little bit sweet, with texture kind of like a cooked carrot. It was very pretty and I sliced it into little circles. Also, apparently beets have rings, like trees. Mine was six years old.

(Note: I didn't put my beets in the refrigerator for a few days after I received them, because I thought they should be stored in a cool dark cupboard like potatoes are, but I was so very wrong about that; they're supposed to be refrigerated. So there is a chance that my mis-storage altered the way they turned out. Who can say for sure?! Produce is so exciting!)

I am doing other things besides dedicating my life to local abundance (which is an experiment that may die off at some point, although I hope not). School has started again (and I am taking an EEK SCARY POETRY WORKSHOP, among other things), and this is a really busy time at work, so I won't be blogging nearly as often for a while, although hopefully more than once a week. We'll see.

Growing up

My brother was here visiting last week, for the first time in three years. Not that I haven't seen him in three years, just not in the Inland Empire. So, we spent a lot of time talking and lounging and playing Rock Band and eating and watching TV both good and bad and generally staying up a little later than I normally would, and sleeping in. On weekdays I get up at 6 and for me sleeping in is something like getting up at the ripe old hour of 8:30, but when I asked Ty what time he usually wakes up he said, "Ohhhhh, I don't know. Sometime between 10 and 11." Because he stays up late doing things like playing in three bands and planning a beautifully nomadic trip to South America, and I stay up "late" editing church newsletters and working on my thesis. And so when he said 10 or 11, I thought, oh good, because that meant I could sleep in AND sneak around getting things done in the morning and avoid being a mega boring married work machine during his waking hours.

So one morning at around 9:45 I called Brad's mom to check on a few things, including how those muffins I made recently were treating her. And as a mega boring married work machine I thought, hey, while I'm on the phone, why don't I sweep the house?! Our brooms and dustpans and mops and Swiffer-type things are all hanging in the stairwell that leads straight to where my brother was sleeping, so I knew I'd have to gather that broom very quietly. So I tucked the phone between my shoulder and ear, slowly opened the door at the top of the stairs, took the broom off the hook, and promptly bumped the mop hanging next door, which in turn knocked EVERY SINGLE OTHER MOP, SWIFFER, DUSTPAN, ETC. clattering and thundering and colliding down the entire flight of stairs, where they landed within several feet of the couch where Ty slept.

Or so I thought. It turns out that he had woken up a little bit early and was watching back-to-back episodes of Top Chef. Meaning, I was upstairs being boring and worried about keeping quiet, and he was being just as boring downstairs. So he put all of the brooms and dustpans and mops away and came upstairs, and I made him watch The Rachel Zoe Project for a while before we went to a coffee shop, where I did boring work stuff and my co-grown-up did the New York Times crossword puzzle.

The neat freak

Fact: Emmy hates being dirty. She cleans her paws and face like a cat, will go awkwardly out of her way to avoid mud puddles, and won't even let sprinkler water touch her sensitive hide. But for reasons unknown, about once a year, our meticulously clean little dog finds something incredibly disgusting and gets it all over her petite self. Last year, she rolled in some sort of unnamed animal poop while she and Brad were vacationing at Priest Lake and had to have a bath, immediately. Since they weren't at home Brad had to use Head and Shoulders instead of dog shampoo, and she's been flake free ever since.

Two days ago, Brad and I took Emmy for a walk and for some bizarro reason, she rolled in a bunch of overripe plums. She smashed so much onto the top of her head that it seemed like she had covered it in gel, and it looked like she had gashes of plum blood on the sides of her body. When we got home she jumped onto the couch right away and I shrieked because I didn't want plum blood on it, but it turns out that all of the plum had hardened, much like hair gel, and was no longer leaving stains. So, it was into the bathtub with Emmy again, but this time she had her Pina Colada doggie shampoo.

She can be a little bit annoying sometimes, but even in the midst of that she always makes me laugh, and there is just nothing nicer than having a little dog live with us. Even when she gets water in her beard and drips it all over the kitchen floor, every day. Even when she jumped up to pick plums out of our backyard tree and broke her foot and had to be taken to the doggie emergency room. And especially when she greeted us at the front door one night with such an excited wag of the tail that the vet officially diagnosed her with a tail sprain. That's love.

Dinner party

Tonight my friend Bekka and I (hi Bekka!), along with Bekka's boyfriend Joel and of course Brad, had our first of many dinner club parties together (I don't know what we're really going to call this, but that name was super awkward). Bekka and I cooked this time, while Brad and Joel immersed themselves in the world of Whale Wars in the living room, because we are domestic goddesses, and they are big nerds. We made the Anasazi Bean Burgers, as seen at such places as The Elk, Moon Time, etc. (except we made them with black beans instead of the elusive Anasazi), roasted red potatoes, and a really good quinoa salad/pilaf type thing, with red bell peppers and tomatoes and zucchini in it. I wish I could tell you more about the quinoa, but Bekka was the mastermind for that part of the evening and I really don't know what all went on. However, the bean burgers are REALLY GOOD and REALLY EASY (although they took about 473892 years tonight since I never read recipes well enough beforehand to really know what's going on), and the roasted potatoes were perfect.

And then we played Settlers of Catan, which is a nerdy-sounding game, and it IS nerdy. But playing it is less nerdy than when, after Joel finally won (after about, oh, two hours), he and Brad started chanting "King! Of! Catan!" and doing their Harry Caray impressions. Dinner party club is going to be great.

When the living's easy

My brain is tired! My brain! I just started two posts that I then discarded when I decided they were stupid. One was about riding my bike to work. The other was a few delicious recipes. Both of them seemed like a waste of everyone's time after about thirty seconds of writing.

So, instead, what? I'll just say that I love this summer. I've never had such a free, uncommitted, easygoing summer before. Last summer was technically just as free time-wise, but I had just left the bank, and readjusting to a whole different style of life was still overwhelming.

This summer is different. I have loved reading on the front porch, waking up early and running, hanging out at coffee shops with my laptop and attempting to write (sometimes I've also hated that), checking out more books from the library than I could ever read, getting ice cream at The Scoop, biking to work, hanging out with high schoolers, watching Alias, reading and praying and being quiet in the morning times, writing articles about rodeos, and just having TIME to do whatever I want with.

When school starts again in September I know the stress and the pressure will be back, and I'll be short on sleep and generally unrelaxed until June. That's because I'm a perfectionist, not because my program is trying to beat me to a pulp. And it will be good for me in some ways and exhausting in others and it will all work out okay eventually. But I want to remember how restful (even though, honestly, I haven't been sleeping all that much) these few months have been, and how rejuvenating this time off has felt (even though this heat is trying to melt me). It feels good to love life.

The real thing

What I don't understand is, why, in my Breyer's (allegedly) All Natural Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, is there a deliciously authentic vanilla flavor, and yet there is no vanilla on the ingredient list? The only thing I saw that might be vanilla is "natural flavors," but what are those, really? I'm confused.

And I'm starting to wonder if maybe I just shouldn't eat ice cream as often as I would like to. All of the "light" flavors I like are from Dreyer's and I have recently learned that they all have creepy partially hydrogenated things in them, and this Breyer's thing seems sort of suspicious. Plus, I think I eat too much sugar. There, I said it. I didn't want to have to admit it, but it's true. I'm a health fiend but also a dessert fiend and the more I look at ice cream labels, the more I'm wondering if I've been treating myself to too much of a not-so-good thing.

It probably makes sense that dessert should be more of a real celebration than an every day non-event. I'd probably enjoy it even more if I only had ice cream once a week or something devastating like that. Especially if the ice cream I ate was really, really bad for me and good, like the ice cream from my favorite place, The Scoop. The idea of holding out for the good, real thing, and settling for less of the crap, is one of those little nuggets of smartness that extends way beyond snacks. You can start out thinking about something harmless like ice cream, and then the next thing you know you've entered a vortex and your mind is on your old job and all of life's little papercutting compromises again.

Good things take time, and effort, and they usually aren't ready the second you want them, which is also a good thing. Almost every need or want can be met almost within minutes, at least in my little corner of the world, and I think it conditions us to think that we shouldn't have to work hard for anything. Thus, helicopter moms, canned beans, and Netflix. Not bad things necessarily - canned beans and Netflix are my daily bread. But in addition to all of the other bad things it leads to, choosing stuff just because it's convenient means settling when it comes to quality and, ultimately, real satisfaction.

Maybe tomorrow I won't have any ice cream at all. But it's just as likely that I'll give in to a sudden urge for a McDonald's sundae.

Anniversary

I realized today that I completely forgot about my one year anniversary of quitting being a corporate drone. The last day of my five years at the bank was July 9, 2008. It is so funny that just one year later my whole old life seems like so long ago. Quitting my job was terrifying. I wanted to quit for years before I actually did it, and even after I gave my notice I kept doubting myself. Steadiness and security are pretty important to me. Trading my good-paying full time job (with benefits and 401k) for a not-so-good-paying part time job with no benefits, plus going back to school full time, seemed almost impossibly risky. I knew that I was doing the right thing, but I was really scared about what would happen.

I'm still a little worried about what's going to happen, because I'm not sure what exactly I'm going to do when I am officially a Master of Creative Writing next June. But I know for absolute sure that my frame of mind is infinitely better than it was before I started this whole irresponsible lifestyle. I love getting to experience summertime - reading outside at coffee shops, obsessing about summer salads, knowing I can go out of town for a week without it meaning that I won't be able to take a single day off at Christmas. There is flexibility and give in my life now; I'm busier than I was a year ago, but time can expand and collapse without regard to the boundaries of my old 8+ hour days of dissatisfying work. I still feel kind of ominously unsettled, but now it's because I want to be a good writer and I don't quite know how, instead of before, when it was because I wanted to live a fulfilling life, but couldn't do that with the job I was too scared to leave. I don't really know what I'm doing with my life, but I'm not disappointed with myself anymore.

Acclimating

Something unthinkable is happening: I am getting used to how hot it gets in the summers here. It gets really hot. I know we are lucky because there's not a lot of humidity in Spokane, but that has not made much difference to my level of contentedness in years past. I hate being hot, hate feeling like I have to hide in the basement, and hate when I don't feel capable of doing anything but lying still and breathing, because all other options would be sweaty and uncomfortable. And even though lying still and breathing are very appropriate for these evil summertimes, the heat makes sleeping very difficult. There have been lots of nights in years past when before bed I stuck my head under the bathtub spout (is that a real term?) so that I could go to sleep with wet hair and feel less stifled. I also used to chase Emmy around the yard with the hose (set to 'mist'; she is a very dainty lady, after all, and not at all interested in being hit with big scary drops of water) so that she could also go to bed with pleasantly wet hair.

But, I realized today that it was 84 degrees in my living room, and I was just sitting here, reading, computing, tidying, just like a regular human being. I made dinner on the stove, as if I weren't living in an oven. I seriously considered it when my friend asked me if I would go running with her tomorrow, IN THE AFTERNOON (a.k.a., when it will be approximately 96 degrees outside). But I am not completely insane. I still told her no.

Taming the beast

While Emmy and I were out prancing (as we refer to our walks) in the hot hot heat tonight, we crossed paths with a little boy and his dad, who were on bicycles. We paused to let them pass by. And then I heard the boy say this: "Dad, look! It's a baby wolf!" My wild, ferocious little Em. The wolf dog is currently curled up and sound asleep, in my bed.

grorry

I forgot to post yesterday! But posting so very early on a weekend morning should make up for it. I have a lot of readers clamoring for my posts. Anyway, this will be short. I didn't blog yesterday because I am sick! With a cold. In July. It is so lame. Plus, it was about 8 billion degrees in our house last night and I could hardly breathe out my nose and it was practically impossible to sleep, plus I didn't want to take any cold medicine because I had to get up at 5:15 this morning to take Brad to the airport. I knew from past experience that I would have still felt drugged and grorry, a.k.a. groggy, when I woke up, which is bad for driving. So now I'm just sitting here like a zombie eating cereal and trying to lower the temperature in the house. Each degree lower is a victory. I've made it from 78 to 75, so that's three small groggy celebrations so far.

One topic I forgot to include on my list of essay ideas is the elements of story, and what makes us interested in those particular elements. For example, foreshadowing. What makes readers look for foreshadowing in stories (consciously or not)? The more I read and really study writing, the more I notice that even in the most diverse writing, the same elements are there again and again. So, why? I've got some ideas.

getting down to business

My goal this summer was to lounge a lot and to work a little and to write most of my thesis, or at least a draft of most of the essays that will be in it. I am good at lounging and working but I suck at writing. In the first couple of weeks of summer I wrote an article for Spokane Coeur d'Alene Living magazine about rodeos, which I knew nothing about going in and which required tons of research. Doing the article was a great experience but it burned me out on writing for a while, because I had just finished my first year of grad school before I started the article and was already feeling pretty tired. I didn't write much at all for a little while after that.

And regarding lounging: I've learned that I'm probably never going to be someone who has long unmarked spans of time stretching out ahead. Being interested in lots of things and liking lots of people and wanting to go to lots of places will always keep something out ahead of me. This summer, so far, has been good and relaxing and full of fun people and time to read magazines and ride my bike to The Scoop for ice cream. But it's also been full of work projects and article writing and people visiting and mission trip planning and traveling. I say yes to doing lots of things, and every week there's something going on, and it makes it hard to find some sort of routine to do any real writing.

So, while I was walking Emmy tonight, I had an idea: I should set a deadline for my next essay. I should give myself two weeks, which is how long I had to write my rodeo article, which was fairly long and very research intensive, so I know it's doable. And to keep myself accountable, I'll let you read it. If you read this blog and want to read my essay two weeks from now, post a comment telling me so, and I'll email it to you when it's finished. It probably won't be a perfect flawless gem like me, but it will at least be a pretty good draft.

And, as another attempt to help myself stay on track, here are some of the topics I'm hoping to write about this summer, in the form of personal essays, profiles, and research-based pieces. The list is kind of cryptic, but not to worry; I know what it all means.

• serial hobbyism
• vegetarianism, and my growing numbers of vegetarian friends
• movement and thought, and how they're connected
• working at a bank
• working at a church
• piano lessons
• longtime friends (and maybe high school reunions)
• writing about the secret world of rodeo
• the moment I knew I'd become an adult
  

silent stalking

This is where Emmy spends about 50 to 75 percent of her waking hours, usually looking out the window. Often peering intently into pitch blackness in hopes of spying a kitty.

Last week we caught Emmy out in the backyard, very still and statue-like, clearly stalking something. She was staring at the neighbor's hedge, where a neighborhood cat likes to lounge around. This particular cat and Emmy are bigtime frenemies. The cat drives Emmy crazy, and she either silently prepares to hunt it or screeches and cries and runs around, devastated that they can't be together (or that she can't hold the kitty oh so gently in her little dog fangs). On this particular night, she was focused on very still, intense stalking. I looked at the cat, and it was also focused on still, intense stalking. There are birds living in the hedge where the cat was. Lots and lots and lots of birds that usually poop on our car. The cat fixed its eyes on the depths of bird land, in the center of the hedge, and Emmy fixed her eyes on the cat. And I fixed my eyes on Jesus. Just kidding. I mean Emmy.

And then! The cat leaped into the air, landed on the on the hedge, and then vanished into the neighbor's backyard. Emmy went berserk and screamed and cried and shrieked and ran into the house to see if the cat was perchance now just casually sitting outside a different window. But the cat wasn't, because THEN it came silently strolling out from the bottom of the hedge, with a small bird in its mouth. Emmy panicked (maybe nervous for her bird friend?) and knocked over the fan pictured above. It made a ginormous crash, but Emmy was not bothered by that one bit.

Ideal Day

Recently I made a list of everything I'd do in my ideal (but normal, a.k.a. not a vacation or something wonderful like that) day. I love making lists and this one was extra delightful because it's all stuff I like. Obviously. My ideal day (in no particular order) includes:

• running or some exercise something
  
• music (listening to, playing)
• being quiet (reading, praying, writing, thinking)
• being with people in a meaningful way, definitely Brad, probably friends/family/etc.
• taking Emmy for a walk
• being productive, a.k.a. cleaning, organizing, gardening, working
  
• cooking or baking, or eating things I've prepared myself
• watching something really good on TV, or a good movie; being entertained by non-garbage
• using email and Facebook to stay in contact with people I like, not to just spy mindlessly
• laughing. A lot.
• going somewhere: a coffee shop, the library, work, someone's house, etc. In other words, not being at home all day.
• learning something new
• writing
• reading
  

I didn't have to work on Tuesday and had a super quaint little morning. I got up and read for a while, then went running with Emmy, then came back and got my computer and drove to Luna for their summer latte hour or whatever it's called. Luna is a restaurant not far from my house and it is so adorable that it makes me want to die, or just live there or eat there every day. I bought coffee and a scone and sat outside at the cutest table on the nicest and most foliage-covered outdoor patio area. I was in love with it. And while I was there I wrote a draft of a whole essay! That's right. So many things on my list were happening all at once. I was the master of my own plan. I stopped by the library to turn in books and check out a few more, and went home and ate a delicious salad I made myself, and vacuumed, and made some ultra boring but necessary calls to our insurance provider. I was the most productive and most pleased woman in the world.

Then, I went to the Department of Licensing. We are going to Victoria in six weeks and I need to get an enhanced driver's license because my passport says my maiden name and I won't be able to get that fixed in time. So I brought my passport and marriage license and my driver's license and a billion utility bills with my married name, my maiden name, Brad's name, everything. I drove for half an hour through super gross traffic, got in line to get my number, and then the guy told me he couldn't help me! Apparently, although it would be enough to fix the name on my passport, the DOL won't take a marriage license/passport combo to give you an enhanced driver's license. I was enraged, but I tried to be very subtle about. The guy said I'd need to bring in my birth certificate so they'd have "a paper trail" and that I should go to the courthouse to request it.

But I didn't have my checkbook with me, so I needed cash for the birth certificate business. So I drove to a credit union downtown. I accidentally drove through their teller window area backward. Not in reverse; I went around the building counter-clockwise, and it was supposed to be clockwise. Awesome. A little embarrassment always helps me when I'm feeling enraged. I got $20 for the birth certificate, and drove to REI because they are close to the courthouse and have free parking. For customers only. So, to feel less like a parking space thief, I stopped into REI for a minute and priced out metal water bottles. It was ridiculous but it made me feel less guilty.

Then, on to the courthouse. However, contrary to what my buddy at the DOL told me, the courthouse does not provide birth certificates! No, no, no. Those are from some other building a couple of blocks south of the courthouse. So I wandered down there, and it was getting hot and miserable, and I was carrying around my laptop because I was supposed to meet some friends for a writing date at a coffee shop at that exact moment, and it was digging into my shoulder and making me feel off-balance. I filled out the paperwork and got my birth certificate and hiked back to my car (which was now kind of far away). And I was tired and sweaty and running late, I didn't have an enhanced driver's license, and I only wanted to go home. So I did. My ideal day disintegrated into a very unsuccessful and grouchy afternoon.

And on Thursday, instead of going back to Luna, I went back to the DOL. I waited for more than four hours, then spent about 10 minutes filling out paperwork, answering questions, getting my eyes checked, and having my picture taken. Driver's license, consider yourself enhanced. Ideal day list, consider yourself thwarted by normal life.

I knew something was weird

How do I know I have too much going on right now? I know because I found out this morning that I have been washing my hair with conditioner instead of shampoo for about a month. I knew something was weird with my hair and it didn't occur to me until this morning to look carefully at the shampoo bottle, only to discover it's not shampoo at all.

satisfactorily uncomfortable

So here's a little life tragedy. A while ago I posted about someone who called here on the phone and asked "Is mama home?" when I answered, which I could only assume meant she thought I had a dainty and childlike voice. I mentioned that I was glad this didn't happen in person.

Well...it happened. There was this financial planner guy passing out information door to door and when I answered ours he said, "Hi! Is your mom or dad home?" I was so embarrassed! I know I look young but jeez. And the thing is, he really was not satisfactorily uncomfortable when I replied, "Actually, I'm the homeowner." He proceeded--far too easily and unabashedly--to make all sorts of small talk that I did not want any part in while my friend Kathleen hid around the corner laughing. Boo. Boo!