248 I love Martha

I wrote this story a few years ago, and it is still one of my favorites. I really like Martha Stewart and her products and believe if she weren't such a successful woman, there would be no trial.

* * *

My daughter called from aisle 4 of the super market--about a mile from here.

"What's a 'cornichon'?" she whispered.

"A what?" I shouted, "Spell it."

"C-O-R-N-I-C-H-O-N-S," she hissed, "I think it must be type of pepper and I'm standing here in spices and can't find it."

Carrying the phone to the kitchen bookshelf I looked through a few cook-books. No cornichons. I walked into my study to look at my encyclopedia of cooking, no cornichons.

"Did you spell this correctly?" thinking of all the times she creatively spelled.

"Well, I think so."

"How much does the recipe call for?"

"A Tablespoon."

"Hmmn, doesn't sound like pepper," thinking of all the times she creatively "substituted," when learning to cook.

"Can't you ask a store employee?"

"Have you ever tried to find someone in this store? Get real," she whooped.

"What is this for?"

"Deviled eggs."

"Hang up so I can use the modem and I'll check the Internet," wondering what's wrong with my mustard and mayo Deviled Eggs that she needs to reinvent a tradition and add cornichons--a Tablespoon even. Her faith in me shaken, she reluctantly agreed to wait while I matched my PC against her cell-phone. The first 10 on the Google search seem to be in French. This isn't looking good. We're in Cl'mbus O-hi-o for Pete's Sake. Finally, a definition.

Crisp tart pickles made from tiny gherkin cukes. I call her right back.

"It's a pickle. A tiny pickle. You are in the wrong aisle."

"A pickle," she screams. "I'm going to kill Martha Stewart."