The other day, Sarah was in the kitchen, cooking up a storm with four burners going and a meatloaf in the oven. She turned to me and said, "He was right. I am very efficient."
Perhaps, I should elaborate. The aforementioned "he" was a college professor* of mine. And the aforementioned "he" was also... mmm... how to put this delicately?... a catty old queen. I'll call him Dr. Meow Meow.
It was Senior year, and Sarah and I were checking out the brand new fancy grocery store that had just opened up in town. Rounding the bend, we ran into Dr. Meow Meow pushing his little cart full of gourmet goodies down the aisle. We exchanged pleasantries. I introduced him to Sarah. They made small talk about the best type of rice for risotto, the wide selection of mushrooms, etc. Eventually, the chit-chat drew to a close. He paused, gave Sarah one last look from head to toe, turned to me, and smiling coyly said "She seems very... efficient." He bid his toodle-oo and went on his way.
Sarah was, quite rightly, pissed. It was nothing nice, no matter which way you slice it. But time passed, and the claw-marks faded. What had been a rankling source of anger gradually became a running joke. We couldn't help but acknowledge that Dr. Meow Meow's comment, while undeniably bitchy, was also right on the money. She is very... efficient.
Maybe I should get it embroidered on an apron for her. I'm sure she'd love that.
* Yes, Johnny-geeks, I know. "Tutor." Forgive me.