This isn't another rant about my ex-wife, but she is relevant in the story, albeit slightly so bear with me.
In the almost ten years I was with my ex, she spent God knows how much money on stupid shit for Christmas and my birthday. I never really wanted anything much for Christmas, socks and underwear was about all I'd ask for. Stuff I normally wouldn't buy for myself. I'm pretty simple. I think Christmas is for kids really. And my birthday is the 27th of December, so I never really expected a whole lot there either. But of course, I'd get these really expensive gifts, ones that I knew we really couldn't afford. I won't go into it now, but some shit would just sit in a closet never to see the light of day again.
For my birthday though, for almost ten years, I did ask for one simple thing. My mom used to make me a Jewish apple cake every year for my birthday, and my mom even gave my ex the recipe. So I'd reply when I was prodded every year with the question, I'd like a Jewish apple cake.
Pretty damn simple request if you ask me. The request was made to a woman who'd spend hours in the kitchen making stupid little finger sandwiches and canapes and shit for one of her idiotic little "Girl's Night Out" functions.
Do you think in almost ten years I'd get one lousy Jewish apple cake for my birthday?
Fuck no.
Not a fucking crumb.
Ok, fast-forward to last week.
There's a little diner-cum-hamburger joint right next to my apartment building and I've become a regular there and have made friends with most of the other regulars and the girls working there. They're pretty good to me, and I feel at home when I go in. They even have a pot of coffee on for me when I go to work at 10 PM, even though they're closing up and are done for the night. Pretty damn nice, and it it reminds me why I moved here.
Last week I was telling one of the women there about this little bitch of mine. Just small talk and I really can't remember why we got on the subject in the first place since we started talking about her husband changing a transmission in a pickup truck.
So I bitched a minute or three about my lack of Jewish apple cake for my birthday the last few years, and basically how much of a self-centered selfish bitch my ex-wife was, and I was on my way to work, fresh coffee in hand. Didn't think anything of it.
Till this past Friday. I go into the place, and there she is. She pours me my coffee and says she has something for me. She reaches under the counter and what does she have?
A freshly baked Jewish apple cake. She had looked up the recipe on the internet and baked me a damn Jewish-fucking-apple cake.
I almost cried.
Really.
It was the sweetest thing anyone had done for me in the longest time. She really didn't have to do that for me, and I told her so.
Ah, it was nothing she says.
Nothing hell!
I really can't say enough how much that cake was appreciated, but I'll tell you, It's now Sunday morning and it's gone... I devoured it greedily and I didn't share it with anyone.
Ha!
The one thing my friend said though got me thinking...
How I was going to be rich beyond all imagination!
"I made it from scratch!" she said...
Scratch?
Scratch????
Scratch??????????
It hit me like a bolt from the blue.
I had an epiphany.
All sorts of things are made from scratch. You can make anything from scratch!
"Hey Phil, sweet hotrod!"
"Yeah, Tom. Made it from scratch!"
"Hey, Bart, nice dining room set there!"
Yep, Tommy, made it from scratch!"
See, you can make anything from it. Look around you some day. You'll see it everywhere... In restaurants, "Scratch-made biscuits" or "Scratch-made flapjacks"
I even saw an ad in the back of Popular Mechanics once: "Make your own helicopter from scratch!"
Anywhere you can get things, people make them from "Scratch".
So all I have to do is corner the market on scratch. I'll be filthy rich. I'll make Donald Trump look like a pauper. Bill Gates? I'll have him installing my IT system in ToFuCo Enterprises, my new company I'm forming to corner the market. I'll hold title to all the scratch mines all over the world.
If you want to make anything from scratch, you'll have to come to me for it.
I'll hold all the world's strategic stockpiles of scratch. Fuck everybody else! You want to make it, you have to see me, damnit!
Frank Zappa can be a dental floss tycoon, but if he wants to make something from scratch, he'll have to see Tom Wolfenden! (I know he's dead, damnit!, his ghost will have ot see me!)
I'll make Head's of State shake in their boots!
I'll have more money that God!
Shit, I'll have more money than the Catholic church!
I'll be the SCRATCH TYCOON!
The UN will be crawling on their knees groveling to me...
Fuck em! Pay me for it!
And for that I'll have to thank a Jewish apple cake for getting me there...
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
In the almost ten years I was with my ex, she spent God knows how much money on stupid shit for Christmas and my birthday. I never really wanted anything much for Christmas, socks and underwear was about all I'd ask for. Stuff I normally wouldn't buy for myself. I'm pretty simple. I think Christmas is for kids really. And my birthday is the 27th of December, so I never really expected a whole lot there either. But of course, I'd get these really expensive gifts, ones that I knew we really couldn't afford. I won't go into it now, but some shit would just sit in a closet never to see the light of day again.
For my birthday though, for almost ten years, I did ask for one simple thing. My mom used to make me a Jewish apple cake every year for my birthday, and my mom even gave my ex the recipe. So I'd reply when I was prodded every year with the question, I'd like a Jewish apple cake.
Pretty damn simple request if you ask me. The request was made to a woman who'd spend hours in the kitchen making stupid little finger sandwiches and canapes and shit for one of her idiotic little "Girl's Night Out" functions.
Do you think in almost ten years I'd get one lousy Jewish apple cake for my birthday?
Fuck no.
Not a fucking crumb.
Ok, fast-forward to last week.
There's a little diner-cum-hamburger joint right next to my apartment building and I've become a regular there and have made friends with most of the other regulars and the girls working there. They're pretty good to me, and I feel at home when I go in. They even have a pot of coffee on for me when I go to work at 10 PM, even though they're closing up and are done for the night. Pretty damn nice, and it it reminds me why I moved here.
Last week I was telling one of the women there about this little bitch of mine. Just small talk and I really can't remember why we got on the subject in the first place since we started talking about her husband changing a transmission in a pickup truck.
So I bitched a minute or three about my lack of Jewish apple cake for my birthday the last few years, and basically how much of a self-centered selfish bitch my ex-wife was, and I was on my way to work, fresh coffee in hand. Didn't think anything of it.
Till this past Friday. I go into the place, and there she is. She pours me my coffee and says she has something for me. She reaches under the counter and what does she have?
A freshly baked Jewish apple cake. She had looked up the recipe on the internet and baked me a damn Jewish-fucking-apple cake.
I almost cried.
Really.
It was the sweetest thing anyone had done for me in the longest time. She really didn't have to do that for me, and I told her so.
Ah, it was nothing she says.
Nothing hell!
I really can't say enough how much that cake was appreciated, but I'll tell you, It's now Sunday morning and it's gone... I devoured it greedily and I didn't share it with anyone.
Ha!
The one thing my friend said though got me thinking...
How I was going to be rich beyond all imagination!
"I made it from scratch!" she said...
Scratch?
Scratch????
Scratch??????????
It hit me like a bolt from the blue.
I had an epiphany.
All sorts of things are made from scratch. You can make anything from scratch!
"Hey Phil, sweet hotrod!"
"Yeah, Tom. Made it from scratch!"
"Hey, Bart, nice dining room set there!"
Yep, Tommy, made it from scratch!"
See, you can make anything from it. Look around you some day. You'll see it everywhere... In restaurants, "Scratch-made biscuits" or "Scratch-made flapjacks"
I even saw an ad in the back of Popular Mechanics once: "Make your own helicopter from scratch!"
Anywhere you can get things, people make them from "Scratch".
So all I have to do is corner the market on scratch. I'll be filthy rich. I'll make Donald Trump look like a pauper. Bill Gates? I'll have him installing my IT system in ToFuCo Enterprises, my new company I'm forming to corner the market. I'll hold title to all the scratch mines all over the world.
If you want to make anything from scratch, you'll have to come to me for it.
I'll hold all the world's strategic stockpiles of scratch. Fuck everybody else! You want to make it, you have to see me, damnit!
Frank Zappa can be a dental floss tycoon, but if he wants to make something from scratch, he'll have to see Tom Wolfenden! (I know he's dead, damnit!, his ghost will have ot see me!)
I'll make Head's of State shake in their boots!
I'll have more money that God!
Shit, I'll have more money than the Catholic church!
I'll be the SCRATCH TYCOON!
The UN will be crawling on their knees groveling to me...
Fuck em! Pay me for it!
And for that I'll have to thank a Jewish apple cake for getting me there...
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
3 comments:
That is a great story! I hope the cake was good and worth the wait :)
Welcome to the south, Tom. I was trying to explain this for a northern friend the other day and she just didn't get it. If you so much as sneeze in the south, people who barely know you are likely to show up on your doorstep with chicken noodle soup. That's just what we do. :)
Good luck tracking down that elusive scratch stuff.
We share a birthday and read each other's blogs. Crazy shit.
Post a Comment