This morning was definitely one of those times when I literally broke down and cried out verbally "I need a man right now!" I will admit, this doesn't happen very often, and when it does you have to understand it's because I've tried everything I could do alone and by myself before resigning to the fact that there are just some things I cannot do correctly by myself. Tensions were mounting under the pressure of it all, emotions were just about to get raw, and I have to tell you, I was sweating with anticipation of what would happen if I couldn't get the damn thing open! I literally stood there in my kitchen holding the canister from the food processer in my hand with it's gray spinning top thing, or maybe it's the bottom, I don't know which it would be since you put it on the top of the canister after you put the food in it, but you turn the thing upside down to place it in the machine itself. Whatever it is, whichever way would work best, on top or on bottom, I can do both, but what I can't do, and couldn't do by myself was to open the damn thing! It was stuck.
Inside the canister was my entire breakfast. It's way past 11 a.m. at this point, an entire hour or so more than I usually wait to eat. I had been fasting like I do, from 6:00 p.m. last evening, so here it is going on over 17 and a half hours since I've eaten and I'm not able to get the canister open to pour out my breakfast! Just saying the words "pour out my breakfast" feels a little anti-climatic doesn't it? Earlier when I had opened the fridge to see what wonderful and tantalizing foods I could make for myself I realized almost immediately that yesterday, not today, was a cheat day. I had cheated and cheated well. I had gone to Chick-Fil-A and eaten not only their fried breaded chicken sandwich on two pieces of toasted bread (let me say that word again....bread....ahhhh, br-ea-dddd) I had also eaten their wafflely cute potato fry things that don't even require ketchup because they're so adorable; I will be 100% honest, because I try to be 100% honest, I even had sweet honey mustard sauce on my sandwich, and you know it had more than 100 calories in and by itself - - I CHEATED big time. Today would have to be a day of control. Well, control went right out the window when the food processer decided to lock up on me and cause me to fret - - did you hear me? I fretted! I'm not supposed to do that. I am fret-less, ask anyone.
What do you do when you can't get a jar open and you just have to have, must have, whatever is inside the jar? Well, if you're like me you freak out for a few minutes, cussing at the air, daring any dog to walk into the kitchen to see what the fuss is about; you make really unnecessary and aggravating grunt noises while you apply even more non-flexible and immoveable pressure to the top of the bottom thing and you push, pull, threaten, use a knife to try and pry it off, and you resort to running water over it after beating it against the cabinet a few times. NONE OF THOSE THINGS WORKED. It was time to admit it, it was time to lay down and just roll over, and say the words "I need a man right now!" So you know, I'm not anti-man, I really love them actually, I could stare at them all day. I could watch them, I could study them, I could even entertain touching one, but then I'd start giggling and lose full control of myself, and if you know me, you know that control is the one thing I think I have.
I live in an apartment complex that I have lived at for more than a 150 years. I have been a resident of this particular complex at least 5 times in my life, and if I think about it I think it's 6 times. I don't know if I can count one of them or not since it was only for a few months. Can you count that? I keep coming back to the complex because it's centrally located, the crazy people who live here are my crazy people, they know me, and they won't think I'm absolutely bonkers if I knock on any of their doors and thrust my food processor canister that is stuck to the machine part that spins it - - right into their face. The problem is that I've lived here at least 150 years and most of the neighbors were here before I arrived. Most of the men here couldn't open a frozen pickle jar with a rubber hand thingy - - so I had to pick my brain for a second. I needed maintenance.
Here, at the complex, though he's also been here 150 years or more, is a man named Miguel who to this day, and I've known him this long, I don't know his last name. I swear it, it's true. I don't know Miguel's last name. I've seen him age, get fat, get thin, raise kids, and change trucks 11 times, but I don't know this man's last name. He is Miguel, and to the kids he's Uncle Miguel, because he's seen me raise my kids too - - I decided that Miguel was the man I needed! I went on the hunt! Luckily for me, Miguel is a creature of habit, and since it was just about his lunch time, he was in the office with the lights turned out, the door locked, and his back turned to the door so he could pretend not to hear you if you peeked through the window and knocked on the door. Oh, but I've been here a minute, I know people who know people! There is an apartment that has a back door that actually opens into the office space, and though the tenant is asked not to actually use that door - - they do! Ha! Success!
Faced with the words "Miguel, I need a man" the poor soul had no other alternative than to bust a gut laughing, spit out the bit of sandwich he was hoping to swallow, and retort rather rudely and bluntly, "Yes, yes, you do! I've said that for a long time!" I love Miguel. Have I mentioned that I LOVE Miguel? He's just a nice guy - - I thrust the canister at Miguel. He took it. Looking at me with loving and sweet kindness in his deep salty brown eyes he said to me, "Jude, I'm going to take my time with you OK? I want this to be memorable." I smiled that smile you smile when you don't really want to smile but you're about to lose it and cause snot to come out your nose, so you bite your bottom lip, and just sort of smile - - somewhere in the back of my throat I managed to respond "Thank you, I appreciate that, Miguel. I really do." After a few elongated seconds of false bravado and he-man muscling, the canister was opened and I was released from the chains of entanglement that held me captive to needing a brutish man to save me. I was free to drink my breakfast!
It's times like these, and yes, they are rare, that I have to sit back inside the closet where I pray and remind myself that God never intended for a man to be alone so He made a woman. Women can be alone and we are often alone in fact. We can go years and years without the need for a close and intimate relationship - but you know there are times we need jars opened, things retrieved from the roofs, and yes, we need someone to tell us we're not always supposed to be in control of everything. God knew what He was doing when He made the man. They really are useful at times, and I do want one again someday - - but I can think of a few more things I could use him for other than opening jars and setting my food processor free; and when I think about it I allow myself to giggle.
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