Ignoring the Excitement

I didn't go to a tavern to watch the election. No beer, no salty snacks, just a sick feeling in my stomach that something will go terribly terribly wrong and another election will be stolen. My eye started twitching at 5 pm.

To keep the paranoia at bay, I got down to baking.

Strangely, I continue to be off my game, though in smaller and less public ways than the Initial Party Awkwardness of Friday night.

Usually, if I'm going to bake, the first thing I do is check to make sure I have all the ingredients. I didn't, in this case, so I asked to borrow some. Went and bought others.

Left them at the Hartman's.

Luckily, was able to pick them up again, at the Hartman's, where, did you know, they keep a list of all the groceries that people have left behind? And they don't ask you for a receipt but just tell you to go get your new whatever and be on your merry way?

When I got home from yoga, during which the teacher commented that my base was not as solid as she'd seen it, I got home to find I was missing another key ingredient. The cat pee convenience store up the street had one package that would be better used as a weapon than in baking, and Little India didn't have it either.

Back to the Hartman's.

Needless to say, even if I'd really really wanted to go to a pub and possibly celebrate a possibly historic occasion - or feel punched in the gut when the wrong guy won - I sure as hell made subconsciously sure that me and my twitching eye were chained to the oven all night.