I am in the middle of getting my condo ready for a major renovation. In exactly six days, pretty much everything from the condo that I reside in will either be:
1) in storage,
2) donated,
3) sold by a woman that I joke is with the Russian mafia (no offense if it’s you Miss Mafia Lady – please let me live and don’t put a horse-head in my bed) or
4) at the dump
I have zero issue getting rid of things that I’m not going to use, but in the kitchen, the one thing that I’m donating that made me laugh-cry and it so happens to be a crepe pan.
A Crepe Pan?
I know what you are thinking. Who owns a crepe pan? I normally would say the same thing. My mother used to make crepes and blintzes with it. That woman really could do anything. Meanwhile, back to the pan.
For Mother’s Day one year, I decided to buy her a mother/daughter brunch cooking class. I mean, what do you buy for the woman that has everything (including a crepe pan) and really, what could be better than spending time with her favourite daughter? Please note, as owner of this blog, I will from time to time use creative license, and/or exaggerate. I’m guessing that I was the favourite but she isn’t here to deny that fact.
Anyway – we go to this cooking class. Everything is set up beautifully. They take us through the menu and have us start making the crepes. Of course my mother already knew how to make them so her crepes were perfect and she quickly became the teacher’s pet. Every time he would walk past her, something to the effect of “Judy, your crepes are perfection. Your technique is spot on. You’ve obviously done this before”, would come out of his pie hole (there is no such thing as a crepe hole, otherwise, that’s exactly where it would have come out of). My mother would smile smugly, at least I think it was her smug smile, and say thank you.
The instructor would then come to me, and of course, there would be a large hole or my crepe would tear and he would condescendingly correct me, while my mother laughed (silently of course, but I could feel her mocking me).
Finally after several rounds of this, and having him praise my mother, I got annoyed and did what any mature woman would do. I made faces behind his back, rolling my eyes as I mouthed, “Oh Judy….your technique is perfect….” Of course, that was the very moment he turned around and caught me….my mother laughed and the instructor made a point of finding fault with everything that I did after that.
This torture went on for 90 minutes. I had to deal with gloating and a mutual admiration society to my right. I finally asked my mother to get a room already – the fawning was disgusting. She told me to eff-off (quietly as not to spoil her perfect image). I told her that foul language wasn’t the answer. We both cracked up and finished the class. It was fun – mostly because my mother and I had fun together. I was so lucky to have the coolest mother in that class – she really was. Even though she was annoying me the entire time.
So, that is why when I put the crepe pan in the donation box, I had a little laugh-cry moment. I almost forgot about that day…but now I never will again.
Jill Of Some Trades 