Sex in a Pan

So then…I cradle the kitchen phone between ear and shoulder so I can spoon the whipped cream into the cream cheese, as the store clerk says he’s not sure if he has the DVD movie of Reservoir Dogs in stock, so he’ll have to check in the back.

As I wait, I click on the mixer to blend the creamy mixture with sugar.

On hold for about a thousand minutes, then I hear a click. Disconnected.

Hang up. I continue making a luscious chocolate/cream-cheese/whipped-creamy dessert dish which David describes as so delicious it’s like “Sex in a Pan.”

Redial. Now a new store clerk tells me that she has to go look in the storeroom. David really loves this movie, so I’m hoping I can pick it up this afternoon for our Big Date Night. The kids both have sleepovers tonight, so after we attend David’s friend’s dinner party – for which I am making the Sex in the Pan dessert – I am hoping we can come home, watch the movie, then make some of our own Sex in a Pan.

Now smashing the pecans into the flour and butter mixture.

On hold for a million minutes, then I hear a click. Disconnected.

Argh! Redial. Now another new store clerk tells me HE will have to check in the back for the Reservoir Dogs movie. I hear Dave rattling around upstairs so I keep my voice low so he doesn’t hear me ordering his favorite movie.

“Be careful!” I warn the store clerk in a whisper. “Two of your co-workers have already gone back there, never to be seen again. It’s like a bad horror movie. Do you promise you’ll come back to the phone? I just need to know if you have the movie. It’s not on Netflix Streaming so I just want to buy the movie from you. Help me help you sell me something!”

He assures me he will be right back. I whip chocolate pudding and milk into a fluffy mixture.

On hold a billion minutes, then I hear a click. Disconnected.

Furious now. I put down the mixer, wash my hands, throw the flour/nut/butter crust into the oven, shove the chocolate/cream-cheese/whipped-creamy layers in the fridge, exit through the patio door and press redial on the portable.

Before the store clerk can even finish saying “Hello,” I immediately launch into a tirade.

“Look, do you have Reservoir Dogs or not? It’s a simple question! Why is it taking you so long to answer me?”

He says, “I’m sorry, what? You haven’t asked me anything.”

Me: “Yes, but I’ve asked everyone else there and they keep DISAPPEARING on me – and DISCONNECTING me! How incompetent are you people? Just TELL me – do you have Reservoir Dogs or not?!!!!”

Him: “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Me: “You don’t THINK so? Isn’t it your job to KNOW? You either have Reservoir Dogs or you don’t!! I NEED Reservoir Dogs. I keep ASKING for Reservoir Dogs. Seriously, what is wrong with you fucking people!!?? DO.YOU.HAVE.RESERVOIR.DOGS!!??!!

Him: “Well, um…we have some cats, but no dogs.”

Me: ???

It’s as this point that I realize this may not be a store clerk. I look at the phone’s screen which says “RON MEDINA” – Dave’s friend.

I hang up immediately. My heart is pounding.

I yell upstairs: “David, did you make a call from the upstairs phone a couple minutes ago?”

David yells back, “Yeah, I called Ron about bringing some wine tonight. Why?”

I respond with a cheery, “Oh, nothing.”

David immediately leans over the banister. “What have you done?”

Of course I try to wiggle out of it, but he breaks me with an accusatory glare.

I blurt: “You made a phone call in the middle of MY phone calls – so when I hit redial, I accidentally re-dialed your friend and screamed at him for not knowing if he has Reservoir Dogs or not! And he must be really old because he wasn’t even familiar with the movie title — so he thought I was some deranged woman talking about disappearing people and some strange breed of dog that I absolutely had to have!”

David laughs out loud. “So what happens when he meets you tonight and recognizes your voice as the crazy woman who attacked him on the phone?”

My eyes pop. How mortifying! I don’t want his friend to think I’m the sort of person who would be so rude and profane to harmless store clerks. Even though – clearly, I am.

All night at the party, I avoid Ron and use a faintly British accent whenever he speaks to me. I mumble a bit and add a slight stutter. David keeps grinning at me from across the room, silently mouthing the words, “Reservoir Dogs.”

I am so annoyed at him for relishing my discomfort — and so irritated by the store clerks who still have not returned from the storeroom with the Reservoir Dogs.

At my house tonight, no one is having Sex in a Pan.

(OK, out with it – confess an embarrassing mistake you made. Or share a story about phone calls, store clerks, parties, Reservoir Dogs, or Sex in a Pan! Love to read your Comments!)

— Darcy Perdu