Crying over Quiche

The recipe was clear: "cook bacon until nice and crisp". After thoroughly burning the first four pieces, I proceeded to under-cook the next eight because I'd simply run out of patience. (Retrospective thought: never let a 5 minute delay ruin a process that requires a 90 minute investment). Peter came home in the middle of this bacon debaucle  and helped me consume the burnt remains while assembling the rest of the meal. Forty-five minutes later our quiche was smelling and looking delish. Attempting to cut the thing was another story--as soon as I tried to slice out the first piece I realized why "nice and crisp" would have been worth the wait.

Before I get to the crying part, I should mention that this was not the first thing that had gone wrong with my most perfect plan for the day. I had my heart set on picking up theater tickets for a steal at the Seattle Rep only to find out upon arrival that they had just sold out. I was bummed. Bummed bummed bummed.  However, the thought of a warm quiche made me feel better and I headed home determined to redeem the evening.  Let's pick up the story where I left off...

And then I started to cry. Not so much bawling-can't-catch-my-breath-crying but more frustrated-with-self-for-bad-timing-all-day crying. If only I'd left an hour earlier for the tickets. If only I'd taken an extra 5 minutes with the wretched bacon. I just wanted everything to be perfect for Peter. Had I made the dish for myself, I couldn't have cared less. I'm not a fan of bacon anyway and would have removed it all. But I know he likes it (evidenced by the Costco 4-pack in the freezer) and I couldn't help but feel like I'd failed him in some way. Peter was a complete sweetheart about it,  all the while reassuring me that he appreciated my efforts regardless of the outcome. After much dabbing away of tears and lots of hugs we were ready to eat.

To my suprise, the quiche wasn't all that bad. In fact, it was perfect--because this night I was shown once again what a wonderful man I have been given. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world, soggy bacon and all.