I know last post I said I was going to review a restaurant; but I changed my mind and decided to have fun with this post and do something different. I think most people have a degree of competitiveness within themselves. This degree can range from slightly competitive to over the top. I, myself, am very competitive. Especially when it comes to food. So, this is a fictional story based on some inner truth about me.
Our friendly food feud in our neighborhood started a few years back. I think everyone has that specialty dish they like to make and bring to parties. And, I admit, I try to always top them. Tonight I’m at a potluck dinner held at Abigail’s house where everyone is raving about my chili. I could see Abigail stewing near the corner. Her chili used to reign supreme until I decided to get in on the action and the accolades. Okay, I know I have a problem. I just can’t help myself. Well, I could if I put my mind to it, but I don’t want to.
However, what people don’t know is I’m even competitive with myself. I always have to try and improve a recipe. I can’t seem to let my nearly perfect recipes be themselves. See, right there, I said nearly perfect.
Abigail comes over to where I am and said, “You just had to go and do it, didn’t you?! I finally make something everyone likes and you had to burst my bubble by making better chili.”
“I’m sorry. You know how I am.” I’m looking down at the floor like a dog that just got caught sneaking the holiday turkey off the table.
“First you had to make better desserts than Johanna. Then came the spaghetti sauce and meatballs to beat out Mary. And now this,” Abigail said pointing to my chili. “It’s not like you don’t have a ton of creative recipes that no one else makes; you have to make our best signature dishes!” Abigail is actually smiling at this point because everyone in the area knows my reputation. Good or bad as my competitiveness can be, they don’t stay upset for long or else they wouldn’t get to sample my new creations.
“Okay it’s time,” she said poking me in the chest with her finger.
Startled I said, “What?”
“I’m calling you to step outside right now.”
Exasperated I said, “Abigail, what are you talking about?”
“It’s time for a good old fashioned shootout at the OK Corral.” Abigail turned around and went into her bedroom. She came out holding two pistols.
“We are going out into the street and settle this,” pushing the pistol into my hand.
By this time everyone stopped talking, staring at the spectacle that was forming.
Looking around the room, I took a deep breath and followed Abigail out the house and into the street. Everyone followed and made a circle around us.
Backs to each other, holding our pistols to our chests, Jack was going to pace out our steps. Then we could turn around and shoot. But we would only take three steps, as our water pistols don’t shoot very far.
Jack counted out one, two, three, shoot.
All of a sudden, I am being squirted from all around me. Liquid is flying at me at super speed and nothing is coming out of my water pistol. It’s empty! Everyone is laughing as I realized I’m getting squirted with chili sauce. Sauce is landing in my hair, face, and arms. I smell like a giant burrito.
The shooting stops and I noticed the flashing lights. People were taking pictures!
Abigail, laughing, throws me a towel. “We knew you wouldn’t be able to resist making chili once you learned it was chili night at my house. We thought we would teach you a lesson. Hope you’re not mad.”
Rubbing my hair with the towel, I smiled and said, “Okay, you got me. I deserved that.”
Leaving the party to get cleaned up, I thought about what happened. Hmm, maybe I should change my ways. Sometimes I need to sit back, stop, and think about what I’m doing.
Opening the door to my house, I am thinking. I’m thinking how it’s pasta night next month at Lois’ house. I need to pull out my pasta roller and show her how it’s really done.
Did I say I’m competitive?
Until next time, happy creating.