Epic Fails. In the Gym. In the Kitchen.

It’s been quite a week, both glorious and hard. We just returned from an amazing anniversary journey to witness the famed Northern Lights which was a long-time dream of mine. However, the return home was marked by multiple epic fails, most of my own doing. Here are just a few of the lowlights.

The Epic Fails Begin

Now, in general, I’m pretty gregarious, a regular Chatty Kathy. But not in Pilates Class. There I struggle to survive … to complete the exercises and not expire. I simply do not have the breath or coordination to talk. This is in contrast to many of the gals, who gab like there’s no tomorrow!

For me, this gabfest is awkward. On one hand, I am distracted by the non-stop chatter. On the other, I feel left out! So, you can imagine my glee the other day, when amid a lengthy discussion about the Super Bowl, I managed to gasp out the words, “Well, I didn’t see the Super Bowl, but my husband and I just got back from seeing the Aurora Borealis.”

Now, I thought this would be of interest. I mean people in Reno, NV are outdoorsy. I thought this would evoke some “ohs” and “ahs.” But no, no, no! First, there was dead silence. You could have heard a Pilates spring ping! Finally, one woman dryly said, “That won’t appeal to me. Too cold.”

Huh? Reno is freezing, snowy cold in winter! What the heck?

Then, without a pause, they all returned to the Super Bowl conversation. From the game, they turned to the half-time show, expressing strong disdain.

“No class.”

“Terrible choreography.”

I See the Light

Now, I’m too old to call myself an Usher fan. He’s more a Millennial or Gen X star, but still, to say the performance lacked “class?” Really? “Class” is generally not the first word that comes to mind when describing the Super Bowl or the half-time show, is it?

Had the woman expected to see Marie Callas or Pavarotti or a symphonic performance? I think not. And if not, what was she actually saying? I’ll leave you to your own opinion. As for me, I’ll just say that mine rhymes with “basest.”

And as for the “no choreography” snipe, I think dancing and doing the splits —on roller skates — on a rotating stage — in front of millions of people — qualifies as astonishing choreography.

Wisely, still stinging from the rejection over my Aurora Borealis contribution to the conversation, I kept quiet. I did not opine out loud! I mean, after all, I’ve got “class.”

The Epic Fails Continue

My failures as a baker are well documented. This weekend I added to my portfolio of culinary flops.

Usually, it’s the cake that’s the problem. Undercooked, overcooked, stuck to the sides or bottom of the pan, cracked or collapsed in the middle — I’ve done it all!

Not this time. Nope. This time, I baked my daughter’s birthday cake to golden perfection.

No, this time my nemesis was the icing! Impossible! I always use my mother’s tried and true delicious chocolate icing recipe. It’s never let me down. Yet, this batch came out a rubbery, sticky, yucky blob. I could not get it off the spatula!

Handsome Hubby, who was reading the newspaper at the counter, suggested adding milk. That smoothed the goo enough to spread it onto the cake.

Icing seemingly “saved,” we dashed out the door in time to make an afternoon movie. However, after dinner, when we went to cut the birthday cake, the icing had again hardened into a glue-like, inedible mess.

What had I done wrong?

Say it ain’t so, Betty Crocker!

Well, you know the expression haste makes waste? In my rush to make that afternoon movie, I had grabbed two canisters of what I thought were confectioner’s sugar from the pantry. Now, at the time, it did seem odd that I had two canisters of the same item, but I couldn’t find my reading glasses and both canisters did contain a white powdery substance and both labels showed a (blurry) “C” as the first letter on their labels. So, ….

Now, with my glasses on, I read the canisters’ labels. One was cornstarch! Oops!

Thank goodness, my daughter is kind and has a sense of humor! We cut off the icing and ate the denuded cake.

Why My Children Hate Me! Cornstarch” Icing.

That Ain’t All, Folks!

The week’s epic fails continued … I carelessly, stupidly lost my wedding band — the day before Valentine’s Day no less.

Fortunately AND unfortunately, I had three days to hunt for it without having to fess up because HH was stuck in air travel hell.

On Valentine’s Day, he had boarded a plane, hoping to return home in time for a candlelight dinner. He and his fellow passengers heard a loud boom outside the plane. Ten minutes later, the captain announced over the intercom that the towbar vehicle (which moved the plane out to the runway) had crashed into the landing gear. Then, he “invited” everyone to get off the plane … with their luggage.

HH was able to jump on another flight bound for San Francisco. But his travel fun didn’t stop. He couldn’t get a connecting flight from SF to Reno that night AND his beloved Golden State Warriors lost. So, heartbreak and disappointment all around.

All’s Well That Ends Well

The next morning, HH arrived home safely. I found my wedding band and my second baking attempt was a success.

     The Second Time Was the Charm!

As for Pilates? Well, I still have no words!