I don't own an apron...yet.

Today I decided I was going to bake. There were two old bananas on the counter, completely brown, and I have a new subscription to Cooking Light Magazine. Coconut Banana Bread with Lime Glaze, check. That’s a nice lot of adjectives and the recipe is five stars, definitely worthy of housewifeliness. The fact that I never cooked, or baked, in my DC existence doesn’t matter; now that I’m a housewife I’m sure more adjectives better Show My Man I Love Him.

Oh, I should mention that Ed doesn’t like sweets.

So I head off to the grocery store that so frightened me a week ago. Pre-Housewifeliness. Now I’m gonna take that H-E-B down. I have all morning and I go through in orderly fashion, starting on the right, working to the left, up and down every aisle and committing the layout to memory so I’ll never be frightened again. I ignore the entire front of the store – the jewelry counter, the pharmacy, the money wiring place, pet supplies, toys, the other things in the middle. Not important, I’m here for groceries. I will not be distracted by dried floral arrangements in disturbingly large vases.

I get home and organize my things on the counter. I read through the recipe again to make sure I have everything. Crap, no vanilla. Vanilla flavored coffee syrup? Good enough. No stick butter. But I have a tub of whipped butter. No powdered sugar.

Hum.

I debate throwing in the towel. But no, dammit, I’m making banana bread. Besides, what else do I have to do today? Job searching is taking an hour a day at the outside, and I’m running out of new companies or sites to check out.

I get back in the car and go back to the store. Butter. Vanilla. Powdered sugar.

Isn’t it beautiful?

I had a piece and decided it would be much better with peanut butter. But we don't have any peanut butter in the house, so I'm going to head back to the store. This bread is going to be perfect if it takes me all day.

In fact, if it takes all day so much the better.