The Wearer of the Little Pink Apron

Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.* My grand entrance into this world occurred much the same way as every milestone in my life – with great dramatic flair. Three weeks early, my mother’s water broke as she worked in one city, my dad worked in another city, and the hospital stood waiting in yet another city. Don’t worry, they all made it in time. My tiny, premature body fit perfectly into a Christmas stocking and the palm of my father’s hand. I haven’t grown much since then.

Elementary school picture days tell the story of my stature. Obediently lining up by height, waiting to traipse through the subway tiled hallways, all of the vertically blessed children got to laugh and play in the back of the line, far from the teacher’s disapproving stare. I began these years comfortably in the middle, sandwiched between two girlfriends, carefully arranging the bright neon hair bow of the girl in front, while the friend behind me did the same for my side-ponytail. As the years progressed, my friends passed me by, all hitting the growth spurts that caused tight-rolled jeans to become cut-off jorts, while my growth spurt just spurted out. Until one year I ended up in the dead first position and sealed my fate as a “front row forever” girl.

By the time college came around, years of being cast as the youngster in community and high school theatre productions, having jocks arms’ resting on the top of my head in lunch lines, and climbing on grocery store shelving to reach that last bottle of Coke, had made me accustomed to my 4’10 frame. During this time, I met my future husband – a 6’3 tall, dark and handsome practical jokester named Andy. We were quite the odd couple, so very different on the outside, but very much made for each other.

Andy loves to eat. LOVES. His endless appetite has become legendary, from ordering substantially all of the Wendy’s value menu as his “Andy meal,” to becoming the human garbage disposal as plates were passed down to him on family vacations, to inspiring my maid of honor’s reception toast by the way he devoured shrimp during a cookout. This bottomless pit has now become my husband, and the responsibility to keep his belly happily full of food has fallen on my petite shoulders. I hope my little pink apron is ready for the ride!

*Sound of Music – one of my favorite musicals.