Saturday, August 19, 2006

That's a what?

I hosted a Pampered Chef party at my house the other night. With family in town last weekend, and then with me writing like a fiend this week, I almost forgot to pass out invitations, so it was a small party. But it was still a fun party.

We made a turtle fudge skillet cake, which was devil's food cake baked in a big skillet instead of cake pans, and the frosting was melted chocolate and caramel sauce, and then it was topped with nuts, but Mr. Honey would've rather we made german chocolate cake instead. Of course, this is the man eating taco salad for breakfast as I type this, and he doesn't like much chocolate. But woe is me, I might have to make another cake this weekend.

While my very sweet, kind consultant was mixing the cake batter, she talked about the stainless steel whisk she was using. Then she made a mistake. Of course she didn't know it was a mistake, but then she'd never done a party in my house before. She mentioned The New Whisk. I'd seen this whisk at a party a couple months ago, and I remembered it well, so I whispered to my neighbor what I thought it looked like. My neighbor has known me for three years. She's used to me. So she chuckled a little to humor me as she rolled her eyes, then went back to paying attention to the presentation. Things were fine, until the consultant held up the new whisk.

Since blogger doesn't like me at the moment, I can't post my picture, but if you'll click here, it'll pop up in a new window.

So, as the consultant holds up this new whisk, my neighbor bursts out laughing. Everyone else in the room (all four of us), turned to stare at her. I shrug. "I don't know what she's laughing at."

She points at me. "It's her fault."

I grin.

She laughs harder. "She said it looked like a sex toy!"

At this point, the consultant's cheeks turn pink, and everyone else cocks their head to the side, contemplating how this whisk could be used as a sex toy. "You know, she's right," one lady says. Another nods her head in agreement.
"It doesn't look like any of my sex toys," the third says.

"Er, um, sorry," I say to the consultant. "Please carry on."

So the party continued without further incident worth mentioning, and life was good. I've pretty much guaranteed I won't be having another Pampered Chef party in my house anytime soon, but that's okay. I'm not a great host anyway.

Posted by Honey :: 7:33 AM :: 3 Comments:

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