Summertime Lemonade

We have a young chef (a/k/a culinary dominatrix) in our midst this summer.  No challenge is too great.  She throws on her apron, dives into her cookbook and is instantly an expert.  One to be revered, if not feared.

Take pink lemonade, a perfect sugary concoction that requires lots of taste-testing and will likely draw a crowd.  She worked hard - cut the lemon rinds, boiled water, chilled water, mixed in lots of sugar, measured juices.  And then, right when all of us hovered with glasses ready to fill... she felt crowded, smothered, pressured, overwhelmed.  She quickly swept up her coveted glass pitcher and wandered the yard, the sweet stuff splashing all over her without much notice.  After all, she was already covered from all the necessary tasting.

Finally, something clicked.  She relented, even embraced the pleasure of giving.  Her minions were all the more thrilled, given the uncertainty of our receipt.  And it was delicious.  I hope she'll bless us with the sticky floors, the uncooperative lemons, the cooperative ones, too, and the prolonged anticipation again and again.  (But, even if she doesn't, it will feel like she has due to her fabled retelling of this her first batch.)