So Pas and I thought it would be a lovely idea to host a Pink Ribbon Breakfast to raise money for the NZ Breast Cancer Foundation. This decision was made a good few weeks ago, little did we know in the mean time we’d be receiving a veritable ass pillaging at work and come home so exhausted all we were capable of was chucking on Home and Away and dribbling into our microwave meals. Needless to say, the day before the event rolls around and we have had a dismal amount of donations and have organised precisely nothing. It’s fine though, we’re going to go hard on Friday night baking up a storm like the domestic goddesses we are…or, we do what we actually did and buy a whole lot of pre-made baked goods from the supermarket to pass off as homemade, go home and consume our own body weight in champagne.
Saturday morning comes around and I wake up to the sound of Armageddon. Oh no wait, it’s just the rain on the tin roof making it appear that I’m in the midst of an unfathomable apocalyptic disaster. I drag my sorry carcass out of bed hating life as I have to get up earlier than I would for work and it’s SATURDAY, don a pink dress (suitably fitting for the pink ribbon breakfast so I’m rather pleased with myself), put on a half-assed attempt at a face of makeup and leave the house. It’s still raining. As I have both of my hands full I can’t magic up the ability to use an umbrella so turn up to Mum’s (who’s kindly agreed to host the event because lets face it, my place is a tip) with my half-assed attempt at a face of makeup mostly washed away. I have Pascale on the phone in a blind panic as the gassy is out of juice but she swiftly reassures me she’s going to try the dairy so crisis is averted for now. Mum is in the kitchen busily chopping up some fruit salad so after I have a coffee and start feeling alive I being preparing some smoked salmon bagels. Meanwhile Pas has turned up with Hunter who immediately rampages through the house with that impish look on his face like he’s about to cause utter carnage and she promptly disappears outside for a cigarette because it’s only 8am and life is already too hard. We all get cracking and about 2.5 seconds into what I’d planned to be a meticulously efficient production line of food prep I slice my finger and bled all over the bagels and cream cheese. This is going awesome. After some hasty medical treatment from Mum we get back into it (for the record I did not serve the aforementioned bloody bagels to guests, although Pas’ Mum, who’s since turned up, assured me it would be ok as long as I didn’t have AIDS). Pas is whipping up some eggs for the crepes like a woman possessed. Goes to add flour. Flour contains many many small creatures that I’m pretty sure are not meant to be in flour. Crepe mix goes in the bin. Champagne comes out of the fridge and things start to look rosier. It’s 8.15am.
About an hour (and a bottle of champagne) later guests start to show up (I say guests, there are two apart from our Mothers). One of which informs us that she is on a low FODMAP diet, what the fuck that is I’ll never know but she hasn’t been eating wheat, dairy or fruit…which rules absolutely everything on our menu out. The other of which has just broken the news that she is pregnant and happened to have suffered a bout of acute morning sickness in the car on the way over so probably wasn’t overly enamored with our lavish spread of food. In the mean time Hunter has done an astronomical shit and the stench is wafting out of the bedroom so Pas has to take code red action and sort that out before guests start dry reaching. The rest of the breakfast was actually quite delightful, the bubbly was giving me a lovely warm haze so it didn’t even occur to me to think about my ovaries slowly shriveling up like old figs while yet another one of my friends is basking in the glow of pregnancy. Plus my barren love life only came up once in conversation so overall I consider that a huge win.
PLUS we raised over $350 for charity so all in all the ridiculous comedy of errors was worth it.
I just re-read over that and it sounds made up. I can assure you, it’s 100% based on fact. This is my life.
Nic xx