Some people might say I am one to hold a grudge. Hold it, stroke it and give it little treats, even. But at least I am fair in my grudge-holding - two thirds of my grudges are against myself.
One of the grudges that has reared its resentful head recently is over some miniature cheese muffins. At the end of the Summer term this year, The Girl's nursery invited all parents to contribute a dish for the party. I dutifully ticked the 'Savoury' column - being a total square - and went about researching healthy but tasty options. I decided on cheese muffins, which I'd never made before, and then I decided to go for the cute factor and make them teeny, in the sweetest little muffin cases you ever did see. The children were going to LOVE me. The parents would ADMIRE me. I would get a GOLD STAR.
Just to be sure that nothing went wrong, I made 56 miniature muffins and picked the best 40. I made The Girl eat about eight of the rejects to make sure that even the duds were child-friendly. She made yummy-noises and I packed the Good Ones away in a tupperware (yes, I had to do this several times before I got it right) and went to bed that night anticipating parents and children swarming to me with empty miniature muffin cases and appreciative smiles.
In the morning, I handed my tupperware to the nursery manager and felt a small stab of pain when she dumped it nonchalantly with the other covered offerings without asking what was inside. I could have volunteered the information, but unfortunately I am a bit of an idiot. Still, I felt sure that once she'd opened the lid and caught a delicious cheesy waft, I'd be back in business.
Upon entering the party later that day, my little world was shattered: it was a grander spread than I could ever have imagined. It was a feast of tasty treats from around the globe - eye-catching, mouth-watering and plentiful.
And there, shoved in the back corner, was my sad little tupperware of
Alone. Discarded. Almost out of sight. On the line between the savoury and sweet tables, because no one was really sure what they were supposed to be.
I tried not to mind. I tried not to look. But as they piled their paper plates high, I saw not one child or parent gasp with delight at a muffin of mine. It was a wash-out. I stood by the sweet table stuffing my face with gummy bears to numb the pain.
On Thursday, it's the nursery Christmas Party. The Girl is playing an angel in the play. Help me, dear blog reader(s?), become an angel in the kitchen and a victor in the finger food war: what shall I make?