PATSY R. BRUMFIELD: Dangers abound at home

Have you ever been attacked by dinnerware or breakfast food?
This past weekend, my birthday, my son came for a visit. I always try to cook something fancy when he’s here, chiefly because I hardly cook at all, when he isn’t.
So, I had great plans for this delectable berry-apricot pastry. Real Martha Stewart stuff.
I’d gathered garden blackberries and stored them safely in the freezer for such a moment.
Sunday morning, on the anniversary of my birth, we sat cheerfully drinking coffee and discussing the plans for the day.
The pastry was in the oven and the bounty of my garden was a main topic of discussion since all weekend we had elected to eat tomato sandwiches. They featured luscious red-ripe tomatoes, just minutes from the back yard, and soft white Wonder bread all slathered with delicious homemade mayonnaise.
The oven timer exclaimed it was time to extricate my concoction. It had to cool another 10 minutes or lips would burn from the sticky heat.
Finally, we turned to the yummy food at hand.
I cut it into four large slabs and served one to each of us.
Ooh, it was good. All sweet and sour, juicy and crisp.
Would you like another piece? I asked my son. Well, maybe just a small one, he answered.
So, I served him more and certainly didn’t forget myself, the birthday girl.
At the last, I had one large bite still on the crockery salad plate I’d chosen. But it was too big a piece for one bite – well, I probably would have crammed it into my mouth, if I’d been alone. But of course, I never would have cooked the pastry if I’d been alone.
And so, with the plate resting on my lap on the living room couch, I placed the tines of the fork across the rectangular goodie and pressed down to cut it in half.
The plate shattered into the air in about five pie pieces, and the one closest to my belly-button came straight up and smacked me in the mouth. Busted my lip, it did!
If you tried to figure out the physics of this thing, you couldn’t do it.
My son sat there in absolute amazement at the turn of events. Wait, Mother, I’ll pick up everything before you decide to stand up, he instructed me as I surely had quite the look of bewilderment on my face.
He made the necessary adjustments, then I was forced to re-select an appropriate T-shirt and shorts because my day’s original ones were in a state of berry-crust explosion.
And my lip. It looked like Joe Frazier had tapped me a good one.
Life is full of plenty of perils, and sometimes we succumb to the fear of them.
But frankly, I’ve never had to worry about an attack from my meals – until now.

Contact Patsy R. Brumfield at (662) 678-1596 or Read Patsy’s blog, From the Front Row, at or her posts on Twitter and Facebook.

Patsy R. Brumfield/NEMS Daily Journal

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