My secret stash

Around the time my host sister got married, my host mom did some reorganizing in my kitchen so there were enough coffee cups for the flood of anticipated guests. One thing led to another and then my spices were all bagged up to spare guests from their fragrance and all dishes were moved to different cabinets in a very “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” chain of events.

I was out of town the weekend this happened and I arrived home to a house of plates, cups, and confusion. My host mom said she didn’t realize I was coming home that day. I think the kitchen reorg was supposed to be a surprise? (Ne znam. – I don’t know.)

We had coffee in the following days (because duh, Macedonia), and mid conversation she said she had a question for me. She looked serious.

She said in the midst of the kitchen overhaul she had gotten tired. (It was a lot of work.) She had a neighbor over for coffee, and while they sat among the transient kitchenware, they saw a jar.

Did I know the jar they saw? (No.)

It looked like an ajvar jar. In fact, the label clearly said “ajvar.”

Her friend saw the label too. She also thought it clearly said “ajvar.”

They had a discussion and after some thought, her friend thought she might have seen me buying ajvar FROM THE STORE previously.

Host mom said she couldn’t understand it. I know where they keep the homemade ajvar and the winter food in the basement. I helped make it. Why would I have bought ajvar AT THE STORE!

I immediately started backpedaling. It wasn’t mine. The jar was really old. I had put it in my cabinet a long time ago. I hadn’t bought it. A friend had given it to me. It WASN’T EVEN MINE.  I promised. I didn’t buy it AT THE STORE.

I would have been less embarrassed if she found a secret pile of nudie mags or drugs or seen me walking around naked. Pretty much anything else. Buying ajvar FROM THE STORE? For shame.

Just another day in the life.

 

 

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