My girls always knew dad’s hands were warm.
It’s a good thing when you’re a dad. As they’ve gotten younger, they don’t come to me for hand-warming much anymore. Maybe they outgrew it. Maybe they gained the gift of warming coils in their hands like dad’s – who knows?
In junior high, a girl once touched my hand during lunch.
I know, right? It’s true though. She couldn’t get over how soft and smooth my hands were. That was cool and all. She was touching my hand, for Boy George’s sake! But then teenage me began to wonder if she took it as a sign of weakness.
So I got one of those hand-strengthening jobbies, like this one.
I need to have strong hands too, you know. I used it probably three times. To this day, my hands are still soft. I have had little manual labor over the years, save for a nasty stint handling seafood seasonally at Costco (I’m completely healed.)
This ties so loosely into the first question today, about lotion. Hey, I did the best I could!
1. What makes this lotion feel cold?
We’re talking cold creams, and I’m glad it’s not a dupe, like Iceland and Greenland. You know, how they called Iceland Iceland so that people would think it was like Cleveland. But they called Greenland Greenland so that people would think it was like San Diego.
Talk about bait and switch.
Cold creams, though, are water and oil emulsions. That means the water and oil are together but not completely mixed. They’re in with other substances that add consistency and fragrance, depending on the product.
When you apply it, the water and fragrance evaporate. Kind of like how sweat cools your skin. Kind of. Anyway, your skin is warm, so it helps the elements evaporate. Like when you feel a cooling sensation if you rub rubbing alcohol on your skin.
If your lotion has eucalyptus or tea tree oil? That makes it even cooler.
2. Why don’t we ever see white cows with black spots?
I would have agreed that a white cow with black spots was something of an oddity, based on our observations, mainly in Cabarrus County farmlands. But it seems there is plenty either way. Maybe it’s like determining the question about zebras:
Are they black with white stripes, or white with black stripes?
Holsteins are the most popular. But the criteria for what makes a cow black with white spots or white with black spots is intriguing. Is it a 51%/49% split? How can we determine this?
A Belted Galloway cow has a black butt and front end, with a white swath down the middle, for instance.
Bottom line is, we need to take a drive in the country soon.
3. Do you know how to make margaritas?
Boy, do I ever. (Okay, I’d probably have to Google it, but no sweat.) Back in the day, when I was in college, I could do it. Not because I was the life of the party. Because I worked in a Mexican restaurant that had a bar but no bartender.
I even learned about top-shelf margaritas (which, luckily for my short ass, aren’t always tough to reach.) And I played that knowledge into a petty little scene I’m about to share.
A couple came in. The woman was dreamy; the dude showed up in a ballcap with a bad attitude. She was so sweet. He wasn’t. They ordered margaritas, and he just sneered. What kind of guy isn’t happy to share chips and salsa with a dreamboat?
I got this crazy idea.
I made Ms. Thang – let’s call her Carly – a top-shelf margarita, crafted with love. I tossed the cheap stuff into Dufus’ drink – let’s call him Dufus. She raved about the drink, saying it was the best margarita she’d EVER had, and she asked my name.
He grumbled: It’s not that special.
She got mad at him for being a crank. He didn’t think to try her margarita to see what the fuss was about. I made them each one more. Her cheeks grew rosier; his, well, who cares? So that’s how I made the best and worst margarita on earth on the same night.
At the same table. Twice.
4. Why does everyone on cooking challenge shows have a sad story?
Sob stories sell. I mean, who wants to root for the lady who grew up rich and went to culinary school because her boyfriend did? Or the dude who inherited a restaurant from an uncle he hated? If you’re a great chef without emotional baggage …
You’re just a great chef. (yawn).
In America, we like the underdog. The problem is, in America, we sometimes fabricate the underdog. Or embellish it, at least. Reporters need that, too. That’s why they ask about broken bones and dead relatives when an athlete wins a gold medal.
Plus, if you get on a chef show, that’s awesome. But, it’s not something you’ve worked for all your life. You might use your prize money on your bakery, or to remove your great-aunt’s corns. But you won’t be exiled out of America for coming in second.
Yet, that’s how they make it sound.
Having the best Italian creme truffle cookies with gold and platinum reduction sauce isn’t going to make the family that disowns you take you back. Getting that after-tax payout for surviving among three cooks won’t save the bumble bees.
But it sure makes a good story.
5. Why is Gray Stone Day built right next to Pfeiffer University?
Gray Stone Day – site of Madison’s final high school game, Camdyn’s final middle school game and countless butt-whoopin’s and a close call or two (okay, one), is in a town called Misenheimer, N.C. The nicest part of Misenheimer?
The neighboring town of Richfield, N.C.
At least there’s a good pizza place, although we got tossed from there because girls were flinging water out of straws. We’ve had rough games in MIsenheimer, and good ones. Mostly, we’ve argued with townsfolk there during matches.
Then felt bad that we could go home to Charlotte. But they had to stay in Misenheimer.
Anyway. They built Gray Stone next door because Pfeiffer University donated the land. Damn thing cost $7 million to build. We went in there once, looking for bathrooms. You could fit most of Queen’s Grant in their cafeteria.
Oh, and we had to wait out a thunderstorm during a playoff game there once.
Their principal came in to admonish our players for wearing cleats in the hallways. Gasp! The good thing about having Spartan accommodations is that you can act like Spartans in them. Or any such classification of Roughians.
This post was kind of laced with vinegar, wasn’t it?