Do you think that you can burn through clothing?
I spent six and a half hours in direct sunlight Sunday, the temperature somewhere in the mid-80s, serving, cleaning up, freckling…
Shh. You hear that?
The black-pantsed and white-shirted move amongst us.
And they’re sweating madly.
It was a graduation party, the celebration of a wealthy family. A carved watermelon boat inscribed “Jordan #43”, mango salad, fresh salsa,“dirty” rice, chicken and steak kebabs, we estimate that we served around 175.
That’s a good amount of work for one chef and one server.
But it was supposed to have been a two-server job, wasn’t it? Unfortunately, Mary, having twisted her ankle sufficiently as to have imagined it broken, spent Sunday morning at Urgent Care, leaving her completely useless to me.
It is not broken, by the way, although it is severely sprained, requiring elevation, sympathy, and enforced immobilization.
I shall shower her with iced beverages and scented lotions just as soon as I, myself, recover.
You see, while not as old as I hope to become, I am no longer as young as I was.
Oh, I’m still, as Chef Paulie likes to say, a “lumberjack”. I can hoist, haul, lug, and heave with the best of them. Large move-able propane grills, collapsible tents, coffin-sized coolers full of ice?
I’m your gal.
Heaving, especially, is my specialty.
But today? Today, my friends, I suffer. My face and neck are sunburnt, my feet are sore, and I swear to you that my arms, having returned over the winter to their original color (Sweet and Sour Caucasian), appear to be a good 30% darker than they did on Saturday.
Through a buttoned-to-the-wrist starch-heavy blouse.
Is that possible?
I am exhausted, I am bright red, and I am cash-flush.
I love summer.
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