Dirty Little Secret

…It is of immense importance to learn to laugh at ourselves.

-Katherine Mansfield

Last night we traveled to Castle Rock to attend a fortieth birthday party. It was a special party. Our friend wasn’t expected to live to forty, or thirty, or even twenty. It was a special party. We went to see his pregnant wife. His pregnant wife who never thought her dream would become a reality. It was a special party.

As we stood in their kitchen, we reminisced about our first meeting. It was a meeting that sealed our friendship in laughter.

It was several years ago that we met on a cold winter evening. We had decided to meet at church and then go for a pleasant dinner at the Chart House, but Zak’s smashed finger changed the direction of our evening. We needed to take Zak home but we didn’t want to miss a chance to be together, so we invited them instead to our home for take-out pizza.

There was one big problem with our great new plan, our house was a disaster! It’s ok if long-time friends see our day-to-day living, but new friends should see the best side of us (at least once). I guess there was one other slight problem, when we decided to alter our plan – we weren’t actually home to fix the chaos.

After a private “what are we going to do” conversation, Mike and I sprang into action. It was decided that he would leave ahead of us, in hopes of having a few minutes to return our home to some semblance of order. It was a risky move, but the only viable option. I tried my best to stall, before piling us into cars and making our way to our soon-to-be clean home.

As I opened the door, I breathed a deep sigh of relief and marveled at all he had accomplished in such a short period of time. The toys were neatly stacked in their basket, the assorted piles of junk that had been living on our counter had disappeared, and the most masterful piece of all was the kitchen. The stack of dishes that had taken up residence in the sink was gone. I was in awe of my mate’s magical powers. Truly impressive. The thought that ran through my head was, “Who knew he was so gifted at the art of clean-up. If he’s such a magician, why doesn’t he do this more often?”

Mike went to settle Zak in for the night, and our guests and I delved into getting to know each other better. As we chatted, I entered our little kitchen. They leaned against our tall counter as our effortless conversation continued. I began pulling glasses from the cupboard and filling drink orders. It didn’t take long to forget the stresses of the evening and settle into a natural rhythm of discussion. Before the pizza arrived, I realized that we had nothing to serve for dessert. A good hostess always serves dessert. I mentally ran through the items in our pantry and refrigerator. Since serving graham crackers and peanut butter to our new guests was out, I decided on the pie I had been keeping in our freezer.

I turned on the oven and continued preparing for our meal. It was when my new friend pointed out that smoke was seeping out of our oven that I remembered Mike’s little secret.

“Don’t turn on the oven! I crammed all of the dirty dishes in there.” Mike had whispered to me before leaving the room.

Horrified, I had to open the oven – thus revealing our dirty little secret to our fresh new friends. I tried to discreetly peak into my appliance, but it was official, my dishes were on fire. We were busted. There is no faking perfection with flames bursting from your dinnerware.

Our reminiscing has caused me to I reflect on who I have become since the day of flames. At the time I was a perfectionist, now I’m a recovering perfectionist. Fortunately, for everyone around me, I am recovering cause being around a true blue Mary Poppins (fairly perfect in every way) can be a real downer. Who wants to be with someone who tries so hard to do everything perfectly, who often times thinks their way is the perfect way. Being a perfectionist is exhausting. It’s much more fulfilling to make mistakes, to take risks, to be honest and tell the world (or at least my faithful followers) your house is a mess, or set your dishes aflame – and laugh. So, thank you to all my imperfect friends who are brave and authentic with me. It calls me out, keeps me out of hiding, and reminds me each day to be me, imperfectly human – me.

Author’s Note: My goal today was to bust out a story and post it. I'm insecure about being a storyteller. I have another story I started over a week ago, but I’m struggling with wanting the “perfect” piece of writing. Ironic isn’t it? So, here’s my attempt at slice of life storytelling.