I tried to keep this exercise a little more light hearted than my previous ones.
I suppose my aversion might have started at my third birthday. The cake was shaped like a girl and was covered in coconut. A photo shows me sitting, wearing a cute blue dress and smiling up at the camera, but that would have been before I'd had a bite of it. Of course I don't remember anything at all of that day, but I suspect that bits of the shredded coconut might have gotten caught in my teeth, and maybe I thought that the chewy, fibrous, texture ruined the cake.
The cake was probably 'Golden Glow Cake', a delectable recipe that has passed from my grandmother and is my mother's speciality. I love that cake, it wakes me up at night to sliver it on its platter until nothing is left. Unless there is coconut.
Birthdays are now celebrated with tall angel food cakes covered with cloud like fluffy white icing and fresh flowers tucked around the edge. No coconut. Whether it has shiny white icing or its brown outer layer is bare, the airy cake also wakes me up at night, calling to me from the kitchen to have just one tiny piece. Except one piece will never quite do.
Maybe I just love cake. And hate coconut.
Calling me back to the house my mom insisted that I change into a dress. I hated dresses and couldn't see the point of wearing something so uncomfortable and restrictive. How could I ride my bike or scale a fence or get down on my knees to pet a puppy in a flouncy dress. Jeans. That was what I wanted to wear. They wouldn't impede me in any way. I could climb a tree or ride my imaginary horse wearing jeans. The shoes that had to be worn with dresses were also impractical and uncomfortable. Even as an adult, a pair of sturdy boots , cowboy boots even, or sneakers win out over teetering, tall, strappy high heels.
A jumble of small objects concealed the surface of the long table. All these things had to get put into the camper but the thought of just dumping them into the drawers and cupboards unfettered made me crazy and out of breath. Grabbing the car keys I headed to the dollar store - an organizers emporium. With a tape measure in one hand, and a list of measurements in the other, I stared at the long aisle of plastic bins, my mind whirling with possibilities. Soon my cart was overflowing with plastic treasures of all shapes and sizes.
Once home the shuffle started and presto, everything was neatly arranged in colour coded plastic bins, and pleasingly tucked into the drawers and cupboards of the camper. I smiled, my inner chaos calmed.
We stood shoulder to shoulder, working together to get the pile of laundry folded while it was still warm. Carm picked up a towel and started folding, looking over at me, he grinned. I choked back an admonishment and closed my eyes for a moment - when I opened them the sloppy towel teetered at the top of the pile. Unable to resist any longer, I grabbed the towel to try to show him (yet again), how to neatly fold it, and he laughed at me, knowing that I would not be able to stand imperfection.
I remember climbing out of my crib to show my dad how to properly fold my diaper, so I guess the aversion for untidy folding goes back to when I was a baby!