Life as of late in the World of the Redhead had been a dirt sandwich. I don’t really eat sandwiches, as bread sends me into a full-on carb crash and I lose half my day…so imagine my surprise when I finally sit down to eat, it’s a sandwich, and there’s fucking dirt inside.
But there’s something I’m eating this week that’s harder to swallow: crow.
It’s inevitable that when life shoves your head up your ass, you also end up talking out of it. Grief and anger bring about words and phrases that were never in your vocabulary prior. They make a sharp wit more of a matador’s sword. And all of which place you in the position of eating crow. You might think you didn’t order it (weren’t the plum quail, Cornish game hen and crow close to one another on the menu?), but you did.
And I’m not going to say that there are people who weren’t due a little ration of fuck you. But there are a handful of people that just got the brunt of a brain not firing on all cylinders.
So I apologized. Then. There. Not later. Not in a month.
Because ordering up a full plate of crow is easier than slow-roasting regret.
Regret is always on the menu, even though we skip over it in favor of anything wrapped in bacon. It never comes out right , always undercooked or burnt beyond recognition. Undercooked is when people think they’re not in the wrong and wait for someone else to make things right. Burnt all to hell is when we sit on it so long and bury it so deep that we’ll never do the one simple thing (like cowboy the fuck up) that will make us seem human: admit we might have been wrong. And you know, we don’t even actually have to BE wrong. Opening the door to the possibility so you can actually have a conversation tastes loads better than slow-roasted regret.
And there’s no perfect side dish for regret, either. Pain with a demi-glacé, broiled jerk and gut-wrenching emptiness (with seasonal vegetables)…none of them fit but the chef jams ’em all together anywhoo.
So how about the small dish? A little crow…some blue cheese dip. Eat it like hot wings. And take it from a girl who knows: eating the crow now beats a shitty meal you never wanted but they’re never going to comp. If you’re going to pay, you might as well order, right?