The next morning, as I was making pancakes for Mark and me, my phone buzzed.
“Em,” Sarah said the moment I answered, giggling. “You won’t believe what happened last night!”
“What is it?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Jessica’s potluck was a complete disaster. Apparently, her helper didn’t plug the fridge in properly after cleaning it and everything that she had prepared was spoiled. The smell was something else!”
“Oh, my goodness,” I gasped.
“Everyone left early, saying it was the worst dinner ever. Serves her right. Her dad was quite upset, though. And her mom said the only thing that would have saved the evening would have been something you made.”
I couldn’t help but laugh with Sarah. This was karma, pure and simple. Jessica’s insistence on perfection and her dismissal of my food had backfired spectacularly.
