Rules

People have accused me of being "Brooke-centric". I believe there are certain rules that apply, that people know them, and that when they break them, they are giving me permission to judge them.

When you are invited to dinner at someone's home, the polite thing to do is ask the following question: "What can I bring?". If you don't ask this question you need to acknowledge something about yourself. You're a little bit rude. When my friends do this, it's okay. I still like them. In fact, it doesn't really bother me all that much because I do love to cook. But, I do judge them just a little bit.

Now, if you're a guest in someone's home, you are, oddly, not expected to bring anything. I don't know why. I guess the fact that you spent more than $10.00 on gas to visit exempts you from buying food. But, if you and your host go to the grocery store in order to feed your sorry self, then your job is to ask if you can help with the bill. But, otherwise, you're off the hook. Yeah, I know this means you might pick up the tab for vegetable oil that you'll only be having 1/4 cup of in some brownies, but it's the right thing to do. Again, I don't know why. I didn't make up the rules.

As you may have noticed previously, I believe that there are certain things that make meals more...enjoyable. They involve little rules that aren't written down. They just are. For example, the only appropriate vegetable to have when you're eating a spaghetti dinner is a salad. I mean, really, can you imagine a side of brussel sprouts with your spaghetti? That's just weird. And the only other appropriate accompaniment is garlic bread. But, you shouldn't have garlic bread with pizza. Unless it comes beforehand, like an appetizer. With cheese. Of course. Duh.

My mom and dad raised me. They did not ship me out to be raised by some sort of strange type-A cult group of wolves with strange eating rules. And, since they raised me themselves, guiding me through this crazy thing called life, you would assume that they would know the rules.

Today I invited my parents to dinner. We were going to have maple glazed salmon with a balsamic reduction, salt and pepper roasted carrots, seamed snap peas, and for dessert, popovers with pumpkin ice cream. I know. This sounds amazing and gives you pause at my brilliance. I can't take credit. The Boy came up with it. I love him.

Mom did not ask what she should bring. She always asks what she should bring. I figured something was up her sleeve. Tomorrow is the Boy's birthday. He'll be 137. So, when I called her to find out when they were coming over, I asked if she liked my dessert idea. She had already made chocolate pudding for dessert.

Let's recap. She didn't ask what would be an appropriate dessert to bring. She made something willy-nilly. Like it didn't matter to bring the meal to it's logical close. The fact that chocolate pudding was an okay ending is not the point. The point is the willy and the nilly.

Luckily, I am a level-headed person with a bit of self control. She only asked me twice if itwas okay that she brought the pudding she had made special for the Boy.

Perhaps she could hear something in my voice.

I was very smooth during the whole thing, I'm sure.

I really wanted popovers.