Herald and Journal, August 10, 1998

Give my regrets to Martha


If Matha Stewart invited me over for dinner, I would definitely have to decline the invitation.

It's not that I have anything against Martha, personally. When I see her on TV, she seems like a perfectly nice person. Maybe a little too nice.

There is something about Martha that makes me feel slightly uneasy.

She is just too, too perfect. She is everywhere, slinging all this advice to the masses via TV, books and magazines.

There seems to be something lurking under that cool, calm exterior. Is it just me, or do you see a little sterner stuff underneath all the perfection?

To many people, she is the goddess of graceful living. I think of her as the Margaret Thatcher of the mansion. She looks like a no-nonsense lady who is totally in charge.

What's wrong with that, you say? When you see her working in the garden, she is still the picture of perfection. Even her dirt looks cleaner than anyone elses!

We don't get a glimpse of all the grunts maneuvering behind the scenes to make Martha look good. Can't you picture her shaping up the crew with a whip and a chair? Or is it just me?

At the very least, I imagine her rapping their fingers with a wooden spoon if they had the audacity to sneak a bit of dough or a tiny lick of frosting from the beaters.

Yes, she makes me just a little nervous. It's all that advice she keeps giving. Is she a know-it-all, or what?

Really! If I had wanted to take advice, I would have listened to my mother.

If I were bold and did venture out to marvelous Martha's place, I would have to make clever small talk.

I would probably tell her about my favorite recipe for Swedish Meatballs.

I would swap stories with her about browsing for kitchen gadgets at Williams-Sonoma. I have never been there, but I could fake it. After all, I do collect potato mashers. I'm not totally unaware.

I'm sure old Martha is just plain folks. If I invited her to my home, no doubt she would arrive right on time with the perfect hostess gift.

Not wanting to seem ungrateful, I would have to accept the gourmet zuchinni bread she brought. After all, even Martha Stewart can't control an overgrown zucchini plant!

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