Note: I only include this event because it was one of the last in a long line strange incidents north of the Mason-Dixon line.
I was told not too long ago that men who cook were sexy. I never really thought about it before, but it reminded me of an incident that occurred in mid 2005. I was teaching cooking classes at my church. I had a good mix of ladies from the church taking the classes. One day at work, I happened to mention to Dana that I had to pick up some ingredients for class that night.
Dana was fascinated that I could cook, much less teach classes. I showed her some of my recipes, and she took one she liked to try out. About three weeks later, Dana walked in my office early Monday morning. "That was the best meat loaf I've ever made. The family loved it." I thanked her, and she went back to her office.
A few weeks later, Dana approached me about teaching a class to several of her friends. I would go to her house, and use her kitchen. I thought it might be a start to a little side business. It seemed to be a tailor made situation.
Dana and I worked out a basic menu, based on what her friends were interested in learning. I thought we'd need around 3 hours to prepare, cook, and eat the dishes. Also, I considered the goof off time and added it in.
The night of the scheduled class arrived, and I stopped at the store to get all the supplies. I pulled in at Dana's house, expecting to be there before her friends, so I could set up and prepare. Naturally, because the story involves me, that would not be the case.
Dana answered the door, and it was fairly obvious that she had been drinking. When I stepped into the living room, there were five other women sitting around a coffee table that had five or six empty wine bottles on it. They had all gotten to Dana's shortly after 5:00, and they had plenty of time to get hammered before I arrived at 6:30.
Thinking it didn't matter if they were drunk since I was doing the cooking, I decided to press on with the class. I would just have to keep the sharp objects away from the happy students. Dana's kitchen had a large island in the center, and about 4 feet of floor on three sides. It was a tight fit for seven people, but it would work.
It took around 20 minutes to get everything in order. It should have taken 10, but the ladies had walked into the kitchen see everything, and they were mostly in the way. Similar to 4 year olds, they had to pick everything up, because naturally none of them had ever seen food before. I won't go through the exercise of giving the names of these women because I don't remember them all. I do recall that all but two were married, and the single girls were the most well behaved.
The evening started off weird, and this group of inebriated females managed to make it even stranger. Try to imagine you are in a room with six women, who are in close proximity, and filled with liquid courage. Please don't delude yourself into thinking they put away their glasses, or that I was there because they were really interested in learning about cooking. I soon came to understand this was a drinking party, with a little cooking thrown in.
If you've ever heard the story of boiling a frog in a pot, then you know that in this scenario, I was the frog, and the kitchen was the pot. And the first sign I realized it, was when I was preparing the chicken with a seasoning rub. "I like the way you handle your meat." I don't know who said it, because I didn't look up. That was a mistake. I made a sarcastic comment along the lines of, "Gee, never heard that one before." The comments got less creative, and and before I put anything on the stove, one of the women produced a box of the finest Pinot Noir $6 can buy.
As the wine flowed, the kitchen magically got smaller. I mean, "ladies", I'm sure your bra works just fine without the added support of my back and/or arm. I'm sure they are lovely, just don't rub them on me. I haven't kept up with all my vaccinations over the years. Also, I can cook just fine with my shirt on, thank you. Why they'd want me to take off my shirt is a mystery. Sure, I was a 39 year old who faithfully went to the gym twice a year, but that still didn't make it prime viewing material.
Anyway, after I finally said enough was enough, they suddenly got apologetic. "We'll behave." Dana assured me. Uh Huh. As I said, the two single girls were the most well behaved, and they seemed to be interested in the actual preparation and cooking. One of the girls was named Cindy, and I noticed that she continued to nurse the same glass of wine the entire evening. She took a position beside me, and created a buffer zone to keep out the crazies.
Things went better after my personal bodyguard was on the job. She subtly slipped herself in front of the charging wildlife and actually slapped a few hands. The other single girl stood on the opposite side, but she wasn't shielding anything. She was as drunk as the others, but more civil.
I managed to get everything done, and when the women sat down to eat, I cleaned up my utensils and pots instead of eating with them. Cindy came back in to help me, and I was grateful to finish faster.
She carried a box to my car, and she asked if I'd be interested in going to dinner. I asked how old she was, and immediately explained why I had asked the forbidden question. She laughed, and said it was no big deal. She said she was 36. OK. that's better. At least she was in the right age range. I only had a concern with her questionable taste in friends.
Cindy turned out to be the last date I had in Ohio. We went to dinner, saw a movie, and it was really a little plain. I was relieved. We really had little in common, because when you talk to a drunk woman who is in the company of drunker women, she might appear to be a great alternative, but sober is going to roll around at some point. The lack of anything during our date worthy of mention made it a memorable time.
The next time I saw Dana was at work. I didn't want to see her, because , well, do I really have to explain it? She waltzed into my office like nothing happened and began to talk about what a great time they had, how much they enjoyed the food, and that they wanted to do it again. She wanted to scheduled another "class" in a couple of weeks.
I sat back in my chair, and I calmly said no. "Well, why not. We had the best time."
"Good for you that you had a good time. I'm not doing it again."
"The girls all liked you, even if you were a little bit of a stick in the mud."
A stick in the mud? Really? A stick in the mud? I wanted to be polite, and at least pretend that I was not unhappy with her. I had to work with this woman. In the end, I suppressed my my natural desire to leap over the desk and smash this woman into the floor. I looked at Dana, and in a very calm, very controlled voice, I simply said,
"If you and your G$% D$%# drunken harpy coven want a ladies' night, and I stretch the term beyond meaning, order a f%&^#$& pizza."
For some reason, Dana wasn't that unhappy when I left the next year. Can't imagine why.
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