Holding a grudge

My grandpa George tells a story somewhat frequently that begins with "I'm not one to hold a grudge, BUT." Of course, the BUT implies that he is holding a grudge. And as the story that ensues proves, it is a rather significant long-standing grudge. Apparently, when my grandma's father (my great-grandfather) died in 1965, my grandpa arranged and paid for the funeral. HOWEVER, by grandma's brother ("uncle so-and-so") wrongfully took credit for making the funerary arrangements and footing the bill. So, although my grandpa isn't one to hold a grudge, he still tells this story regularly, some forty-five-fucking-years later.

I, on the other hand, may hold a grudge... On July 5th of 2006, Ron and I were in the Singapore airport flying out to Thailand. I wasn't feeling great after eating some rather unusual food for the previous few days. Ron wanted to get some sick egg-ger-ger-ger fast food type sandwich that I was having no part of and very specifically said I did not want. He went to the egg-ger-ger-ger place and I went to Starbucks. We met back at a table, he had 2 egg-ger-ger-gers, and I had a latte (tall non-fat 1 pump hazelnut) and a particularly yummy looking "Peachy Danish."



I had been so mesmerized by my Peachy Danish that I had rather rudely forgotten to get Ron any sort of coffee beverage. So I left my coffee and Peachy Danish to go back to Starbucks and get him a drink. When I got back an unwrapped egg-ger-ger-ger was sitting in my place and Ron was most of the way through his egg-ger-ger-ger. Where was my Peachy Danish? IN HIS BELLY. The whole thing. Being that a) my stomach was a bit off b) that Peachy Danish was exactly what I wanted to eat c) it was the LAST Peachy Danish Starbucks had and d) I REALLY didn't want that stinky egg-ger-ger-ger, I was choked. Really choked. And, I've been going on about that Peachy Danish ever since.




But guess what we found at the Little Italy Farmers' Market yesterday? A beautiful fresh peach tart, that had a smidgen of custard, a wonderfully flaky sweet pastry crust, and one perfectly ripe baked delicious peach. It was lovely. Ron and I are now square from the great Peachy Danish incident of 2006. Not that I was holding a grudge or anything...