Will they throw rotten tomatoes at my house after this week-end?

I came home to a message on my phone telling me that I was invited to be a judge in a neighborhood dessert competition this Saturday. After the glow of flattery had worn off, I began to consider my future in the community. They don’t hate me at this point. True, I missed the boat on the old-timers. I was one of the few women who had a full-time job and so I just didn’t get into the fun and games and gossip then. Round two is passing me by as well. There has been a significant turn-over in my block alone. I am one of the oldest now, having lived here since 1988. They all have kids, mine are up up and away.

But I like this new wave of fresh faces, even if I don’t always partake in their games and gatherings. Does anyone remember my post on the flamingos across the street (I’m talking February; please don’t look for it, it’s meandering and inconsequential)? My kind of people! Who else would have stuck the skinny plastic birds in all sorts of weird positions and then left them there until the snows began to melt?

So I want to show my thumbs up on the whole lot of them. I think well of so many of the individuals here; I don’t want to make enemies.

But now this judging thing has come along. How long will I survive if I reject someone’s famous apple pie? Or chunky chocolate chewies? It’s a no-win situation. I walk around, I sample, I look at the eager faces and what do I say, “it’s all good!” ??

It wont work. After showering praise on everything, I have to vote and select: number one and number two and number three. I know, I know, it doesn’t quite rise to the level of a Sophie’s choice-type dilemma, but on the other hand, people do get really invested in their baking. And to the non-winners I get to say –> not good enough. [Oh God, you don’t suppose I have to award the boobie prize as well, do I? And are there kids with fragile dispositions standing behind their goopy entries? ]

There is also the problem of eating it all. If I go to a winemaker and taste ten wines, I can spit nine out and walk away sober. It’s expected. I’m sure I’ll be allowed no such privilege here. Marshmallow madness with grape jelly? Bring it on! Peanut butter pumpkin pie? Yes, place it right here in front of me! I have to eat everything.

Oh, but how can one say no…I’ll survive this, I know I will. I am almost looking forward to the gluttony and the sugar high. And I’ll be sure to post afterwards. And hope that no one in the neighborhood reads my blog.