Famous poet Robert Frost once said, “good fences make good neighbors”, but I disagree. Extra large zip lock plastic bags make good neighbors.
Recently, I had a coleslaw catastrophe. It was a humongous disaster of epic proportions, and my neighbor saved the day.
My husband has the gift of getting sick every time we have a vital part to play in a special event. This time was no different. We were required to bring enough coleslaw to feed 65 people at his 53rd high school reunion to be held in Sumter.
Unfortunately, my husband’s alma mater has a yearly reunion because they said they were all old and might be dead if they had to wait every five years. So they have one every year. And somehow, we ended up on the planning committee. It’s probably because my husband’s best friend since the fifth grade is in charge of the whole thing. So we got stuck bringing coleslaw.
I contacted a caterer who makes awesome coleslaw, told him how much I needed and when. Everything was ready. All we needed to do was pick it up on the day of the event.
I should have known that this would not go well.
My husband woke up that morning with a rebelling stomach. After filling him with as much medication as was legal, I told him that the only thing he had to do was go to our church, pick up the cooler that we were going to borrow, put ice in it, and go pick up the coleslaw.
That was it. That is all he had to do.
I, on the other hand, thinking that everything was going well, went to get my hair cut and styled.
When I arrived back home, I went into the house expecting to see a cooler full of coleslaw. Instead, there was no cooler, no coleslaw, and no husband. His car was there, but he wasn’t.
Puzzled, I called out, went through the house, then walked outside. As I walked around the outside of the house, my husband suddenly appeared coming out of my neighbor’s house. He staggered down the stairs, stomped up to me, and said, “I am soaked in sweat,” before walking by me and into our house.
I stood there for a minute just staring after him before a thought struck me.
Why was he in my neighbor’s house?
Horrified, I ran to her house and banged on the door. She yelled for me to come in, and that’s when I saw the catastrophe. Coleslaw was everywhere.
She was hurriedly scooping coleslaw from huge aluminum pans into 3-gallon zip lock bags and stuffing the bags in her refrigerator. Slaw was going in every direction with “slaw juice” splattering over her floor and counters. Meanwhile, her six indoor dogs (yes, six) were joyfully licking up the mess.
The empty cooler sat nearby with white syrupy, sticky slaw juice floating around, and her sink was full of bits of coleslaw and milky white juice. It was awful.
I honestly didn’t know what to say except to apologize for my husband bringing our mess to her house. She laughed and told me there was nothing to be upset about and to rinse out the cooler with the water hose outside. But when I saw the new dimensions of the coleslaw, I knew I had a better cooler than the nasty one sitting on her floor. So I ran home, washed the spider webs out of it and ran it back to her house.
It was at least 92 degrees with 100 percent humidity, and I was so glad I had told my hairdresser to put a lot of hair spray in it…although it was dripping with sweat, it hadn’t moved an inch.
Together, my neighbor and I packed the bagged coleslaw and ice into the new cooler. I looked around and felt just awful. Her kitchen was a wreck. I offered to stay and clean, but she told me no, it was okay and to stop apologizing.
Since I was on a time crunch, I knew I had to leave, but I told her I loved her and was so grateful for her help.
We dragged the cooler to the party, which was a success, and on the way home that night, I asked him what possessed him to drag the cooler to our neighbor’s house.
“Well, the caterer just dropped the second pan on top of the first and juice just squirted out everywhere. And the cooler was so full of pans that there was no room for ice. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew our neighbor would know because she is a pioneer woman who cans stuff, so I went there. And you weren’t home, you know,” he said.
How did this get to be my fault? Anyway, I was glad the whole fiasco was over. Never again will I have anything to do with coleslaw, and I owe my neighbor a huge favor!
By the way, are you aware that enough coleslaw to feed 65 people weighs about 30 pounds? Now you do.
