TBT: Martin loves Mabel

Two bits of interesting news...

One: My husband has a girlfriend.

Two: the U.S. Food and Drug Administration issued a consumer update stating that you shouldn’t eat raw cookie dough. Actually, the FDA said all raw dough is bad for you because it contains flour and flour might contain bacteria.

I can say in nearly 60 years I have never eaten nor have I ever had a craving for raw pizza dough, but cookie dough…yum.

I’m a sugar cookie dough woman. I put a slit down that tube, shape the dough into little balls, pop them in the freezer, then savor one at a time when the mood strikes. (In a bind I'll do chocolate chip cookie dough once I pick out the chocolate chips.)

Lately, sugar cookie dough has been in high demand around my house. I think sugar cookie dough tastes better than sugar cookies. Sugar cookie dough is ice cream, but better.It's my go-to comfort food.

I started eating sugar cookie dough when I was a kid. My mother was an amazing baker and would leave generous helpings of dough in the bowl for the taking. And like most kids I’d also pilfer a little cookie dough once I knew the sugar had been added. And now, because of the FDA I have to pray to the patron saint of E. coli that I don’t get sick and die.

On the same day that the FDA report was released, I discovered Martin's  wedding band and Claddagh ring on a chair. He’s been known to take them off on occasion and usually within 24 hours he notices he’s not wearing them and they go back on.

We’re now going on Week 3 and the two rings remain on my third finger, right hand for safekeeping. He hasn’t noticed that his fingers are ringless or that mine are ringfull. I’m guessing he took them off because he’s no longer married to me.

You see, he has a girlfriend.

He won't tell me her name even though she lives in our home so I refer to her as Mabel because, according to Martin, she’s a pensioner whose age is somewhere in the neighborhood of 90. At least he didn’t go out and find some younger chick. The other day he and Mabel were having a delightful time on the sofa while I was putting away dishes.

“How long have you been a housekeeper?” Martin asked. I assumed he was speaking to Mabel so I ignored him.

“Hello! How long have you been a housekeeper?” I looked up and he was looking at me. Me!

I thought of all my slave ancestors and the pathetic state of race relations in the world today, and all that kept me from going through with The Urge was prison time.

“Oh, roughly 300 years,’’ I responded. “Am I good at my job?”

“You could get dinner on the table sooner.’’

Oh, the things they remember! A few weeks earlier when supper was served around 6:30 p.m., he had noted, “You know, at the nursing home they would have fed me by now.’’

First my husband and now they want to take away my cookie dough, too.