A job well done

“Morning,” I burst into the bakery almost out of breath. “Just saw my mother at the doctor’s. She didn’t look too happy to see me. Or she just didn’t look happy. Maybe I should send her a message.”

I promptly take out my iPhone to send said message as I take a seat at a small round table near the window. “Ah she’s hurt her back. A slipped disk. Guess my tarot is pretty good.”

“The Ides of March…” Bakerman suggests as he places a cup of hot tea in front of me.

“Oooh what do you mean?” I want to know, nibbling the chocolate chip cookie I found lying innocently on the saucer. “Like things aren’t turning out well for her at all? It’s like you said, I dont think my brother Fatty is really helping her.”

“My name is Bakerman not Jesus,” Bakerman smiles as he takes a seat opposite me. “I don’t know.”

“She also seems to believe my blog, that Willem is my grandad reincarnated,” I tell him conspiratorially. “Sometimes you sound like Jesus. Or a see-er. Somebody with special powers and special insights.”

“True,” Bakerman holds my gaze. “Willem is not your grandfather reincarnated.”

“He is,” I cry defensively. “Why do you think he’s not? He loves eating nuts. He’s extremely handy and precise with his little fat fingers. He’ll make an excellent brain surgeon.”

“So do squirrels,” Bakerman adds matter of factly.

“Hahaha. For a baby he is really handy,” I argue. “And he builds towers with Lego blocks. He’s a little wonder child.”

“That’s great,” Bakerman leans forward to get a better lock on my eyes. “Wonder where he gets it from.”

“He’s got Marc’s little short fingers,” I point out haughtily.

“Or yours perhaps,” Bakerman teases.

“Marc had an uncle who was a renowned heart surgeon in Peru,” I start explaining. “He passed away some time ago. Nooo those are not my thumbs.”

“What does that have to do with it or are you desperate again?” Bakerman snaps with apparent disapproval.

“Nothing but genetics,” I give him a coquettish nod.

“I see,” Bakerman will not be put off by my show. “Professions don’t have much to do with genetics. A little perhaps but nothing really. Willem will have good motor skills or bad. It’s to do with his own development. In a few years the passed-on instincts will show up.”

“Ok,” I decide to chose my battle wisely and give up on this one.

“I am sure you will teach him all your fears,” Bakerman won’t let me off so easily.

“Hope not,” I grumble under my  breath.

“Teach him to do good business. Teach him to be nice some of the time a ruthless the rest of the time,” Bakerman tells me sternly. Then he gets up from his chair abruptly. “I am going to teach now. See you later”

I read somewhere that if you don’t want to be asked to do something again, to make sure you do an awful job the first time around. That was the lesson my mother taught me. I first figured this out when it came to attending to her needs as her personal servant. Not only was I the live-in mad-hatter tea maker, I was also the full-time nanny to occupy children. And when one day my mother requested I paint her nails, I saw another full-time occupation heading my way. So I did my utmost best to make it look horrid. She never asked me again. Those are the fringe benefits of successful failure.

However, what has it taught me also, to procrastinate. To not try hard enough. To keep going. To be competitive and really fight for something I want. So, that’s what can be said about the job half-done. It leaves you nowhere.



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