This can't be short because it's the story of my wife's success.
She is the epitome of greatness. Greatness I can't even define. God-given greatness, and her cup overfloweth..........
..............
My view to this greatness began 20 years ago. Late one summer evening, my best friend, Melody, and I waltzed up to the marching band field at Muhlenberg North High School (the sister and rival high school to mine) to watch the North Stars perform in their exhibition at their ice cream fundraiser show.
Now picture this. I'm this extremely geeky, skinny, awkward 16 year old with no clue about life. I'd never done much of anything, never dated, never (you insert whatever... I'd not done it).
I typically always watched the field commanders when I watched North because they were always amazing, and I so desperately wanted to be one myself. But, this time, I couldn't take my eyes off this girl in the pit.
There's this BEAUTIFUL girl, with the most captivating curly, blonde hair. Her hair put me in a trance. Something about that hair! It was like she was from the wrong time in history. As though her hair should have actually been a wig in the times of Mozart and Beethoven, and this so intrigued me. And her eyes! And her smile! Oh, sweet Jesus, her face. The way she looked at her friends in her section -- it was so friendly. SO genuine. SO warm. I wanted to know this girl.
I intently (borderline creepy stalker) watched her play the vibraphone with mallet height that meant she was great. Great. She would lift her sticks up so high to play her notes that it was as though there were a leprechaun on stilts helping raise her mallets between each note. And the whole time -- she smiled. That smile. Sweet petunias! That smile.
I don't know if I realized it in that moment, but I think I fell in love with her that very day.
Over the next year, Alisha and I happened to be in MANY honor bands together, and I watched her earn principal oboist chair after chair, further proving to me her greatness. One of these honors was in her senior year (my junior), she was crowned the best high school oboist in the state of Kentucky. I earned 3rd best bassoonist that year and was placed just 3 seats away from her in that all-state ensemble. To this day, 20 years later, I can still remember watching her hands move on the keys (am I a stalker?), her solo parts (I think so), and how in awe I was of her effortless control of her instrument (definitely a stalker). The tone she played with (and still does) on the oboe is unlike any I've ever heard in my 25+ years as a musician. Unmatched. Greatness.
I watched this gorgeous girl go barefoot on stage to that concert, and I remember thinking how hilarious and strange that was -- and how I HAD to know this great girl.
I watched this gorgeous girl go barefoot on stage to that concert, and I remember thinking how hilarious and strange that was -- and how I HAD to know this great girl.
I was so smitten. Hard. HARD. Yet, we did not even know each other. At all. We knew OF each other, but her version of me was pretty pitiful. I was that extremely geeky bassoon player from the other school who looked weird and looked AT HER weirdly and was the rival to her best friend (who played bassoon) -- so Lord only knows what they said or thought of me hahahaha.
About a year later, she is in college. I'm still in high school. I attend an honor band event at Murray State University, where she is now the principal oboist in the MSU Wind Ensemble. They happened to put on a concert for all of us high schoolers while we were there. I DISTINCTLY remember sitting in the balcony of Lovett Auditorium, watching her play, seeing and hearing nothing else but her on that stage, and realizing beyond any doubt -- this was the girl for me. A girl I didn't even know.
I came home from that event and worked up the courage to email Alisha. I think my words included something along the lines of being really impressed with her performance, and I believe I asked her some questions about what it was like to go to Murray.
She responded with such kindess, y'all. Friendly. Genuine. Warm. It was as though I had rolled back time and had the nerve to walk up to that sweet vibraphone player from a couple of years prior. That amazing girl was actually talking to me!
About a year later, she is in college. I'm still in high school. I attend an honor band event at Murray State University, where she is now the principal oboist in the MSU Wind Ensemble. They happened to put on a concert for all of us high schoolers while we were there. I DISTINCTLY remember sitting in the balcony of Lovett Auditorium, watching her play, seeing and hearing nothing else but her on that stage, and realizing beyond any doubt -- this was the girl for me. A girl I didn't even know.
I came home from that event and worked up the courage to email Alisha. I think my words included something along the lines of being really impressed with her performance, and I believe I asked her some questions about what it was like to go to Murray.
She responded with such kindess, y'all. Friendly. Genuine. Warm. It was as though I had rolled back time and had the nerve to walk up to that sweet vibraphone player from a couple of years prior. That amazing girl was actually talking to me!
Folks, my mind was made up at that moment where I would be attending college. I had multiple acceptance letters in my stack. I had multiple scholarship opportunities in my pocket. But I would become a Racer. Because Alisha was there. (The ironic thing is she also followed a boy to Murray despite her multiple offers. Spoiler alert -- it didn't work out for that boy mwahahahaha.)
I reach college in the fall of '99. I joined the MSU Marching Racer Band percussion section in the pit. I get to band camp that August -- and guess who is there. Sweet magnolias! Alisha. She's in my section. I can't breathe.
I don't remember how long it took me to actually talk to her. I'm sure she spoke first. Her best friend, Melanie, was also in the pit -- and within a few days, they had both decided to give me a chance. That's how they both are though. They are both so sweet and so kind and just such good, good girls. They were then -- they are now. And they saw this pitiful, clueless, nerdy kid from Nowheresville -- and reached out to him to befriend him. It began a friendship trifecta that is now 18 years strong, and I'm eternally grateful to them both for showing me how a friendship can be. The true greatness of companionship.
Alisha was phenomenal as a friend. There is no one like her as a friend. She's amazing as a friend. Unmatched. Greatness.
For more than two years, we were just friends. Just friends in the sense that the girl was just friends with the guy and the guy was hopelessly in love with the girl. Story of my life. Story of so many boys' lives, I'm sure, who knew Alisha.
Lish was never anything but amazingly great to me. She took me to church with her when she knew I needed it most. I'm really convinced that God put Alisha in my path to keep me on His path. I feel certain I would have strayed and possibly never returned had it not been for my beautiful, loving, BEST friend.
Throughout the next 2 years, by some miracle (God), Alisha's feelings for me changed. That's when my seat to view her greatness became front row and permanent. And wonderful.
I watched her win more principals on oboe. I watched her win art shows. I watched her win my heart (gag), and I finally won hers.
She landed a job as a middle school art teacher WAY before we even graduated. Ridiculous. And, of course, it was in one of the most prestigious county school systems for the arts in Kentucky -- Daviess County. Lish never could do anything without it involving greatness.
I watched her become a phenomenal art teacher that persevered through some incredibly tough situations to still inspire and entertain her students, impress her administrators, and in general ROCK her new career with some only-Lish-could-do greatness.
However, she was destined to follow a different path. 2004 saw her leave Daviess County to move to Louisville to go to culinary school, another interest and love she'd had since early childhood.
During her years in Louisville, I watched her grow in her talents and succeed in ways that still baffle me. On a whim one year, she decided to enter one of her recipes for a pumpkin pinwheel cookie into a contest on the Food Network's website. She won. Grand prize out of some 10,000 entrants. She got to be flown to New York, appear on an episode of Emeril, and win the hearts of America.
No surprise. She's great. Unmatched.
These defining years in our relationship were really hard though. There was physical distance, but there was also emotional. I was very involved with my schools where I worked. I was very involved with new friendships I was forming. She was too. We almost lost each other once.
Somehow (God), our love boat didn't sink, and we married in the fall of 2006. She had graduated culinary school, returned to our little house in Owensboro, and started her new venture as a pastry chef out of our tiny home kitchen.
I remember those days when she worked from home as just completely crazy. Nuts. Ridiculous.
She worked from sun up until sun down. CONSTANTLY cooking, caking, and cleaning up. There was this never-ending stream of strangers coming to our door to pick up cakes. Our neighbors must have thought we were drug dealers.
Keep in mind how much I don't do people. She's the epitome of charm; I'm the epitome of awkward. Introvert. Weird.
Those years were hard in every sense imaginable -- for both of us.
At some point -- and the year escapes me -- she entered an Owensboro business plan competition. To no one's surprise, she was selected as a finalist. I vividly remember the phone call on the day of the ceremony when the winner was announced. She called to tell me she had won. She was crying. I was crying. It was the best. Great.
She had earned seed money, free rent for a while, and space to start her business in a store front. I wish you could have been there when we first got to see the raw guts of the building where her business would begin. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Just like she is. I still can picture the natural light beaming in through one of her very tall windows in her shop that day on our first day there. It was shining off her entrancing (now brunette, straight) hair. There's just something about her hair! God sure knew what he was doing when he made this girl so great.
It took a couple of years to get going what with construction and the nonsense of starting a business. We had no idea what we were doing. We both had education backgrounds, and now she had her training in food. Neither of us knew business.
Years of crawling through warehouses and junk piles to find her equipment for cheap. Cleaning (scrubbing to the point of raw skin) and having painting parties with our friends and family and planning and prepping and hoping... and trusting God that this thing would work.
But it worked.
I watched her win. She won tasting trade shows. She had her work highlighted in numerous, important publications in the pastry world. She won a loyal client base. She became a mom to our two boys and won at that. Unmatched at that. Great. She won at life.
She won at becoming a bona fide businesswoman. She won as a boss. I've watched her lead her friends and employees Jill, Sara, Amy, Val, Emilee, and Alicia with precision and grace. I love watching her be great at the bakery. It's the best ticket in town. Girls, I thank you for trusting Alisha and supporting her to become who she is and to make Dalishas a success story. You're wonderful. We love you. You are family.
Fast forward to late 2015, and Lish finds out that Dalishas Desserts (and Cafe) has been nominated by the Owensboro Chamber of Commerce as a candidate for the Emerging Business of the Year. We were shocked and humbled! Her doors had only been open for about 2 years, and now comes this honor!? No surprise though really. Lish never could do anything without it involving greatness.
The next couple of months involve her working tirelessly to complete her nomination packet and entrance application. I couldn't even tell you how many hours she put into that thing. Ridiculous.
That time also involved her trying to figure out something to wear to the confounded awards ceremony. The whole idea of the thing was completely foreign to us. We were The Help.
Speaking of foreign -- did I mention she had nothing to wear? She even ordered dresses from some sketchy website in Asia. Bless it -- the sumo wrestler size from there wouldn't even fit this normal-sized, GORGEOUS American nominee. (There's something really wrong with Asian sizing -- I'm just saying.) We go through home fashion show after show trying to pin down what she would wear. She ends up having her entire outfit loaned to her -- I think from head to toe -- and it was a hit. Some Congressman (that I'm pretty sure was drunk off his rocker) that attended the ceremony could not stop talking to the girl in the houndstooth dress that, for some unknown reason through his slurred speech, he kept assuming was from Alabama. It was epic. She was epic.
The 2015-16 ceremony was absurd. The whole thing was bizarre and a total let down. We spent all this time prepping for this thing, really having no idea what to expect. We walk up in there to find out the $50 meal was basically heavy hors d'oeuvres. The food was fine, but folks, I'm there with a professional chef. She could have made better in her sleep. There was nowhere to sit, so we had to stand at one of the very few cocktail tables available. We had to stand with strangers. I don't do strangers, folks. We had to do small talk, folks. I don't do small talk, folks. We ended up standing and eating with this ridiculously nice and beautiful couple that made me feel ashamed of being so homely myself. Seriously. I think these two incredible specimens defined what humans were actually supposed to look like before bad genes started making ugly people. I couldn't even look at them directly because it was like looking at the sun or an eclipse or something else mythological that you're not supposed to look at for fear of it burning your retinas. Their Ken-and-Barbie beauty was just too much. I got choked up. Actually, I choked on a piece of dry pork that tasted like sorrow, and I had to turn backwards and spit it into my napkin. I didn't have anything to drink because even the bottles of water were $87 to purchase. I had to fake it really well because I didn't want good ol' Skipper or Kenneth to judge me. I was a fish out of water. (Literally. There was no water.)
The time comes for us to go into the ceremony, and we nervously (and I think a little ashamedly) search for seats kind of in the back. We sit among locally famous people and listen to a bunch of speeches and yadda yadda yadda.
The program is very basic. Just a mention of the sponsors and the agenda of awards. No mention of the nominees. This was disappointing, but I thought to myself that surely they'd announce her name once they got to her category.
Nope. They arrive at the Emerging Business category. Nothing. Nada. No mention of any nominees.
Before I could even blink, they'd announced Studio Slant as the winner, and all of the anticipation was over.
We both sat there silently holding hands and internally steaming a bit for the remainder of the categories. Not because she'd lost. The business that won was highly-deserving. Neither of us expected she would win. Of course, we wanted her to. We are competitive, and who wouldn't want to win? But, realistically, we didn't expect it. It was an honor to be nominated. But the upsetting part was that we felt so invisible. No one knew who we were there. No one even knew she was nominated. No press. No publication. Her name wasn't printed on anything. No mention of her at all. It just felt like she didn't get her moment to celebrate. We left with nothing except the souvenir T-shirt they were giving out at the door. (It's a really comfy shirt, so hey...)
Over the next year, Dalishas Desserts continued to grow. Thrive. Be great. More and more customers have flocked to the shop to get lunch, desserts, wedding cakes, etc.
Come December 2016, Alisha finds out that she has been nominated again.
And again comes the whirlwind of finding something to wear.
Now, at some point along this same timeline, Alisha gets introduced to the world of LuLaRoe. All I know about this company is that it has something to do with leggings.
It's hilarious because anyone who has known me since this whole leggings-as-pants craze has hit has known that I simply loathe leggings. I think they look ridiculous on women. Obviously when they don't cover up their biscuit, but basically just in general. Put on some boots with those leggings or an infinity chevron scarf, and I'm done. Done, I tell you. Toast. I can't. I know that look is considered fashionable and is highly popular right now, but it's dumb. Can't. Nope. Hate it. The end. Cash you ousside. Howbow dah?
Alisha hosts a LuLaRoe pop-up party at her bakery, and she comes home telling me about it. My response is... umm... LuLaNOOOO. But, lo and behold, they have more than leggings. They have tops that look astoundingly perfect on my wife. They have dresses that I think were designed as couture for my wife. One of these dresses would land the leading role as Congressman fodder 2017.
Her shoes and jewelry took longer to pinpoint, but even at that, bless it -- she wasn't the wardrobe-challenged one this year.
It was I.
I had gained a good 20 or more pounds since last year's ceremony. Nothing fit. I. Had. Nothing.
I scrounged together something to call a halfway presentable outfit, but the only pants I had in the right color were 5 years and 5 sizes too abominable for words. So, MacGyver to the rescue.
Y'all. I had to use a 3 inch fabric button extender for starters. Of course, that caused a grand canyon effect with the zipper. It would not stay up. It would not go up. It had fashion erectile dysfunction, y'all.
I decided to attach a key ring to the zipper. I was pretty sure I had seen some such nonsense on Pinterest. No. Pinterestfail.com. I had to lie on the bed, squeeze the canyon abyss together with my crippled carpal tunnel hands, and pray to God and Jesus that I could get the blasted ring over the original button.
Nope. Not happening. Alisha had to intervene and play the role of fat rolls Redeemer. Somehow, she got me closed and covered. (I should have just worn her leggings.)
Then, I couldn't bend to get my socks on. My wife had to put my socks on, y'all. I'm 36 years old, and my wife had to dress me to get my gargantuan self to this asinine thing. I can't. I'm 'bout to give up on humanity at this point.
We decided to run by Kohl's before the event in hopes I could find some pants that actually fit me. There I am in the dressing room -- trying on the only pair in the place that even came close to the sumo short man size I needed -- and praying I could figure out how to unhook and rehook myself. How was this going to work? Would I just walk out in the pants I was trying on and hand the cashier the tag and say I was buying those? Actually, I've done that before, so yeah, that would be a good plan. Except. Yuck. They didn't work either. Now to rehook myself. Dang it! I have intense back fat sweat at this point. Pleeeeease don't let it show through my shirt. Kenneth and Skipper won't approve. Sheesh. Suck it in, suck it in (to the tune of the plug-in commerical). Pray. Pray hard. Ok, there is a God. I got them on. Quick. Cover up the ring with your belt. Does it look right? Oh, hell, who cares at this point? I give up on life. Let's go do this thing.
We skipped the cocktail hour this year. Ken and Barbs would have to survive without us. I hope they did. No food like sorrow for $50 for me. Nope. I could buy leggings with that cash.
We both needed to go to the bathroom, so we make a pit stop. I kid you not -- my mind thought about "pit" stop and flashed back to all of my "pit" memories with Alisha. I was so proud of her and happy in that moment.
Happy. Happy!
Happy... until I realized I was standing at the urinal unable to relieve myself. I was not about to undo the rig job that was keeping my homeostasis in tact. But, alas, there's a man peeing beside me! What do I do? He will notice if I don't have the pee sound happening at my urinal. He will notice if I just walk away after seemingly doing nothing. He might be a senator. I can't switch to a stall while he's in here. Wait. Just wait. He'll go away.
I guess he'd drunk two or three of those $87 bottles of water, because he peed the Ohio River. Finally, Peeter was gone, and I debated whether to try the stall. No. I can't. I just can't. My back is achin', the pants too tight, my butt is poppin' from the left to the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, to the right...
So I left. Needing to use the bathroom worse than this time in middle school when I was stuck on a bus on an interstate and thought my body would explode from excruciating excretions.
We went into the auditorium -- the only folks in the place (because everyone else was in the cocktail area being human) -- and found our seats for The Help in the back.
Let's briefly discuss the number of times I prayed that my farts would be shart-free and silent but not deadly.
Eleven.
Now, the Congressmen and the highfalutin folk file in. I'm still a fish trying to climb that tree.
The ceremony begins.
We look in the program and see that, as a pleasant surprise, the nominees' names are listed this year!
But, oh crap, there are TONS of nominees in Alisha's category, and some of the names are some big deals. We call the winner (not us) and renounce ourselves into the oblivion of the speeches.
There's been an ongoing bet among all of us for some time that, if her name were said, it would be mispronounced.
Sure enough, they actually announced the nominees' names this year, and the emcee gets to hers, and says, "DalEYEshas," with a long I sound.
This has been a thing for forever. No one can say her name correctly. Alisha. It has a short i. It makes sense phonetically, people. Look at it. I teach people to read for a living. I'm right.
Even a boyfriend of hers called her AlEEsha for months. Dumb.
People call into the bakery all the time and say, "Can I talk to DaLEESHA?"
Let me digress here for a minute and lay it all out there for you people that don't get it. Her name is Alisha. Uh-Lish-Uh. Stick a D at the beginning and an S at the end, and you get Dalishas. Pronounced identically to Delicious. It's a play on words. Get it? Dalishas Desserts.
But Dude said DalEYEshas. No. Just no.
And when he did, I thought -- well, her chances are out. They'd surely know how to pronounce her name if she had won. They'd have done their homework on the winner's name, right??
But.
No.
Not true.
She wasn't out.
"And the 2016-17 winner of the Business of the Year is...... Dalishas Desserts!"
I screamed. I hooted and hollered like only some geeky nobody from Muhlenberg County, Kentucky could. Absolutely no decorum, no precision, no grace.
Alisha was flawless though. Faultless. Seamless. The picture of perfection.
She walks up on the stage like a siren. They'd pre-prepared (is that a word?) a video of her (that should have been a dead giveaway you'd won, babe; do the math) talking about her business and how she felt about possibly winning. It was so charming. So friendly. So genuine. So warm. People audibly went "awwww" after her video ended because they too were entranced by her endearing spirit. It was that same girl I'd fell in love with in 1997. And there she was, winning it all. Her hair was curly tonight -- the same style from our engagement pictures -- and even somehow reminiscent of the Beethoven Beauty of 20 years ago.
I might have been sitting in the back row, but I had a front row seat to greatness.
..........
P.S. About 10 minutes ago, our youngest son woke up. Mommy showed him her trophy and told him she had won. He said, with childlike excitement, "Wooooowwww, Mommy, that's soooooo cool. You have the best bakery!"
And she does.
I reach college in the fall of '99. I joined the MSU Marching Racer Band percussion section in the pit. I get to band camp that August -- and guess who is there. Sweet magnolias! Alisha. She's in my section. I can't breathe.
I don't remember how long it took me to actually talk to her. I'm sure she spoke first. Her best friend, Melanie, was also in the pit -- and within a few days, they had both decided to give me a chance. That's how they both are though. They are both so sweet and so kind and just such good, good girls. They were then -- they are now. And they saw this pitiful, clueless, nerdy kid from Nowheresville -- and reached out to him to befriend him. It began a friendship trifecta that is now 18 years strong, and I'm eternally grateful to them both for showing me how a friendship can be. The true greatness of companionship.
Alisha was phenomenal as a friend. There is no one like her as a friend. She's amazing as a friend. Unmatched. Greatness.
For more than two years, we were just friends. Just friends in the sense that the girl was just friends with the guy and the guy was hopelessly in love with the girl. Story of my life. Story of so many boys' lives, I'm sure, who knew Alisha.
Lish was never anything but amazingly great to me. She took me to church with her when she knew I needed it most. I'm really convinced that God put Alisha in my path to keep me on His path. I feel certain I would have strayed and possibly never returned had it not been for my beautiful, loving, BEST friend.
Throughout the next 2 years, by some miracle (God), Alisha's feelings for me changed. That's when my seat to view her greatness became front row and permanent. And wonderful.
I watched her win more principals on oboe. I watched her win art shows. I watched her win my heart (gag), and I finally won hers.
She landed a job as a middle school art teacher WAY before we even graduated. Ridiculous. And, of course, it was in one of the most prestigious county school systems for the arts in Kentucky -- Daviess County. Lish never could do anything without it involving greatness.
I watched her become a phenomenal art teacher that persevered through some incredibly tough situations to still inspire and entertain her students, impress her administrators, and in general ROCK her new career with some only-Lish-could-do greatness.
However, she was destined to follow a different path. 2004 saw her leave Daviess County to move to Louisville to go to culinary school, another interest and love she'd had since early childhood.
During her years in Louisville, I watched her grow in her talents and succeed in ways that still baffle me. On a whim one year, she decided to enter one of her recipes for a pumpkin pinwheel cookie into a contest on the Food Network's website. She won. Grand prize out of some 10,000 entrants. She got to be flown to New York, appear on an episode of Emeril, and win the hearts of America.
No surprise. She's great. Unmatched.
These defining years in our relationship were really hard though. There was physical distance, but there was also emotional. I was very involved with my schools where I worked. I was very involved with new friendships I was forming. She was too. We almost lost each other once.
Somehow (God), our love boat didn't sink, and we married in the fall of 2006. She had graduated culinary school, returned to our little house in Owensboro, and started her new venture as a pastry chef out of our tiny home kitchen.
I remember those days when she worked from home as just completely crazy. Nuts. Ridiculous.
She worked from sun up until sun down. CONSTANTLY cooking, caking, and cleaning up. There was this never-ending stream of strangers coming to our door to pick up cakes. Our neighbors must have thought we were drug dealers.
Keep in mind how much I don't do people. She's the epitome of charm; I'm the epitome of awkward. Introvert. Weird.
Those years were hard in every sense imaginable -- for both of us.
At some point -- and the year escapes me -- she entered an Owensboro business plan competition. To no one's surprise, she was selected as a finalist. I vividly remember the phone call on the day of the ceremony when the winner was announced. She called to tell me she had won. She was crying. I was crying. It was the best. Great.
She had earned seed money, free rent for a while, and space to start her business in a store front. I wish you could have been there when we first got to see the raw guts of the building where her business would begin. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Just like she is. I still can picture the natural light beaming in through one of her very tall windows in her shop that day on our first day there. It was shining off her entrancing (now brunette, straight) hair. There's just something about her hair! God sure knew what he was doing when he made this girl so great.
It took a couple of years to get going what with construction and the nonsense of starting a business. We had no idea what we were doing. We both had education backgrounds, and now she had her training in food. Neither of us knew business.
Years of crawling through warehouses and junk piles to find her equipment for cheap. Cleaning (scrubbing to the point of raw skin) and having painting parties with our friends and family and planning and prepping and hoping... and trusting God that this thing would work.
But it worked.
I watched her win. She won tasting trade shows. She had her work highlighted in numerous, important publications in the pastry world. She won a loyal client base. She became a mom to our two boys and won at that. Unmatched at that. Great. She won at life.
She won at becoming a bona fide businesswoman. She won as a boss. I've watched her lead her friends and employees Jill, Sara, Amy, Val, Emilee, and Alicia with precision and grace. I love watching her be great at the bakery. It's the best ticket in town. Girls, I thank you for trusting Alisha and supporting her to become who she is and to make Dalishas a success story. You're wonderful. We love you. You are family.
Fast forward to late 2015, and Lish finds out that Dalishas Desserts (and Cafe) has been nominated by the Owensboro Chamber of Commerce as a candidate for the Emerging Business of the Year. We were shocked and humbled! Her doors had only been open for about 2 years, and now comes this honor!? No surprise though really. Lish never could do anything without it involving greatness.
The next couple of months involve her working tirelessly to complete her nomination packet and entrance application. I couldn't even tell you how many hours she put into that thing. Ridiculous.
That time also involved her trying to figure out something to wear to the confounded awards ceremony. The whole idea of the thing was completely foreign to us. We were The Help.
Speaking of foreign -- did I mention she had nothing to wear? She even ordered dresses from some sketchy website in Asia. Bless it -- the sumo wrestler size from there wouldn't even fit this normal-sized, GORGEOUS American nominee. (There's something really wrong with Asian sizing -- I'm just saying.) We go through home fashion show after show trying to pin down what she would wear. She ends up having her entire outfit loaned to her -- I think from head to toe -- and it was a hit. Some Congressman (that I'm pretty sure was drunk off his rocker) that attended the ceremony could not stop talking to the girl in the houndstooth dress that, for some unknown reason through his slurred speech, he kept assuming was from Alabama. It was epic. She was epic.
The 2015-16 ceremony was absurd. The whole thing was bizarre and a total let down. We spent all this time prepping for this thing, really having no idea what to expect. We walk up in there to find out the $50 meal was basically heavy hors d'oeuvres. The food was fine, but folks, I'm there with a professional chef. She could have made better in her sleep. There was nowhere to sit, so we had to stand at one of the very few cocktail tables available. We had to stand with strangers. I don't do strangers, folks. We had to do small talk, folks. I don't do small talk, folks. We ended up standing and eating with this ridiculously nice and beautiful couple that made me feel ashamed of being so homely myself. Seriously. I think these two incredible specimens defined what humans were actually supposed to look like before bad genes started making ugly people. I couldn't even look at them directly because it was like looking at the sun or an eclipse or something else mythological that you're not supposed to look at for fear of it burning your retinas. Their Ken-and-Barbie beauty was just too much. I got choked up. Actually, I choked on a piece of dry pork that tasted like sorrow, and I had to turn backwards and spit it into my napkin. I didn't have anything to drink because even the bottles of water were $87 to purchase. I had to fake it really well because I didn't want good ol' Skipper or Kenneth to judge me. I was a fish out of water. (Literally. There was no water.)
The time comes for us to go into the ceremony, and we nervously (and I think a little ashamedly) search for seats kind of in the back. We sit among locally famous people and listen to a bunch of speeches and yadda yadda yadda.
The program is very basic. Just a mention of the sponsors and the agenda of awards. No mention of the nominees. This was disappointing, but I thought to myself that surely they'd announce her name once they got to her category.
Nope. They arrive at the Emerging Business category. Nothing. Nada. No mention of any nominees.
Before I could even blink, they'd announced Studio Slant as the winner, and all of the anticipation was over.
We both sat there silently holding hands and internally steaming a bit for the remainder of the categories. Not because she'd lost. The business that won was highly-deserving. Neither of us expected she would win. Of course, we wanted her to. We are competitive, and who wouldn't want to win? But, realistically, we didn't expect it. It was an honor to be nominated. But the upsetting part was that we felt so invisible. No one knew who we were there. No one even knew she was nominated. No press. No publication. Her name wasn't printed on anything. No mention of her at all. It just felt like she didn't get her moment to celebrate. We left with nothing except the souvenir T-shirt they were giving out at the door. (It's a really comfy shirt, so hey...)
Over the next year, Dalishas Desserts continued to grow. Thrive. Be great. More and more customers have flocked to the shop to get lunch, desserts, wedding cakes, etc.
Come December 2016, Alisha finds out that she has been nominated again.
And again comes the whirlwind of finding something to wear.
Now, at some point along this same timeline, Alisha gets introduced to the world of LuLaRoe. All I know about this company is that it has something to do with leggings.
It's hilarious because anyone who has known me since this whole leggings-as-pants craze has hit has known that I simply loathe leggings. I think they look ridiculous on women. Obviously when they don't cover up their biscuit, but basically just in general. Put on some boots with those leggings or an infinity chevron scarf, and I'm done. Done, I tell you. Toast. I can't. I know that look is considered fashionable and is highly popular right now, but it's dumb. Can't. Nope. Hate it. The end. Cash you ousside. Howbow dah?
Alisha hosts a LuLaRoe pop-up party at her bakery, and she comes home telling me about it. My response is... umm... LuLaNOOOO. But, lo and behold, they have more than leggings. They have tops that look astoundingly perfect on my wife. They have dresses that I think were designed as couture for my wife. One of these dresses would land the leading role as Congressman fodder 2017.
Her shoes and jewelry took longer to pinpoint, but even at that, bless it -- she wasn't the wardrobe-challenged one this year.
It was I.
I had gained a good 20 or more pounds since last year's ceremony. Nothing fit. I. Had. Nothing.
I scrounged together something to call a halfway presentable outfit, but the only pants I had in the right color were 5 years and 5 sizes too abominable for words. So, MacGyver to the rescue.
Y'all. I had to use a 3 inch fabric button extender for starters. Of course, that caused a grand canyon effect with the zipper. It would not stay up. It would not go up. It had fashion erectile dysfunction, y'all.
I decided to attach a key ring to the zipper. I was pretty sure I had seen some such nonsense on Pinterest. No. Pinterestfail.com. I had to lie on the bed, squeeze the canyon abyss together with my crippled carpal tunnel hands, and pray to God and Jesus that I could get the blasted ring over the original button.
Nope. Not happening. Alisha had to intervene and play the role of fat rolls Redeemer. Somehow, she got me closed and covered. (I should have just worn her leggings.)
Then, I couldn't bend to get my socks on. My wife had to put my socks on, y'all. I'm 36 years old, and my wife had to dress me to get my gargantuan self to this asinine thing. I can't. I'm 'bout to give up on humanity at this point.
We decided to run by Kohl's before the event in hopes I could find some pants that actually fit me. There I am in the dressing room -- trying on the only pair in the place that even came close to the sumo short man size I needed -- and praying I could figure out how to unhook and rehook myself. How was this going to work? Would I just walk out in the pants I was trying on and hand the cashier the tag and say I was buying those? Actually, I've done that before, so yeah, that would be a good plan. Except. Yuck. They didn't work either. Now to rehook myself. Dang it! I have intense back fat sweat at this point. Pleeeeease don't let it show through my shirt. Kenneth and Skipper won't approve. Sheesh. Suck it in, suck it in (to the tune of the plug-in commerical). Pray. Pray hard. Ok, there is a God. I got them on. Quick. Cover up the ring with your belt. Does it look right? Oh, hell, who cares at this point? I give up on life. Let's go do this thing.
We skipped the cocktail hour this year. Ken and Barbs would have to survive without us. I hope they did. No food like sorrow for $50 for me. Nope. I could buy leggings with that cash.
We both needed to go to the bathroom, so we make a pit stop. I kid you not -- my mind thought about "pit" stop and flashed back to all of my "pit" memories with Alisha. I was so proud of her and happy in that moment.
Happy. Happy!
Happy... until I realized I was standing at the urinal unable to relieve myself. I was not about to undo the rig job that was keeping my homeostasis in tact. But, alas, there's a man peeing beside me! What do I do? He will notice if I don't have the pee sound happening at my urinal. He will notice if I just walk away after seemingly doing nothing. He might be a senator. I can't switch to a stall while he's in here. Wait. Just wait. He'll go away.
I guess he'd drunk two or three of those $87 bottles of water, because he peed the Ohio River. Finally, Peeter was gone, and I debated whether to try the stall. No. I can't. I just can't. My back is achin', the pants too tight, my butt is poppin' from the left to the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, to the right...
So I left. Needing to use the bathroom worse than this time in middle school when I was stuck on a bus on an interstate and thought my body would explode from excruciating excretions.
We went into the auditorium -- the only folks in the place (because everyone else was in the cocktail area being human) -- and found our seats for The Help in the back.
Let's briefly discuss the number of times I prayed that my farts would be shart-free and silent but not deadly.
Eleven.
Now, the Congressmen and the highfalutin folk file in. I'm still a fish trying to climb that tree.
The ceremony begins.
We look in the program and see that, as a pleasant surprise, the nominees' names are listed this year!
But, oh crap, there are TONS of nominees in Alisha's category, and some of the names are some big deals. We call the winner (not us) and renounce ourselves into the oblivion of the speeches.
There's been an ongoing bet among all of us for some time that, if her name were said, it would be mispronounced.
Sure enough, they actually announced the nominees' names this year, and the emcee gets to hers, and says, "DalEYEshas," with a long I sound.
This has been a thing for forever. No one can say her name correctly. Alisha. It has a short i. It makes sense phonetically, people. Look at it. I teach people to read for a living. I'm right.
Even a boyfriend of hers called her AlEEsha for months. Dumb.
People call into the bakery all the time and say, "Can I talk to DaLEESHA?"
Let me digress here for a minute and lay it all out there for you people that don't get it. Her name is Alisha. Uh-Lish-Uh. Stick a D at the beginning and an S at the end, and you get Dalishas. Pronounced identically to Delicious. It's a play on words. Get it? Dalishas Desserts.
But Dude said DalEYEshas. No. Just no.
And when he did, I thought -- well, her chances are out. They'd surely know how to pronounce her name if she had won. They'd have done their homework on the winner's name, right??
But.
No.
Not true.
She wasn't out.
"And the 2016-17 winner of the Business of the Year is...... Dalishas Desserts!"
I screamed. I hooted and hollered like only some geeky nobody from Muhlenberg County, Kentucky could. Absolutely no decorum, no precision, no grace.
Alisha was flawless though. Faultless. Seamless. The picture of perfection.
She walks up on the stage like a siren. They'd pre-prepared (is that a word?) a video of her (that should have been a dead giveaway you'd won, babe; do the math) talking about her business and how she felt about possibly winning. It was so charming. So friendly. So genuine. So warm. People audibly went "awwww" after her video ended because they too were entranced by her endearing spirit. It was that same girl I'd fell in love with in 1997. And there she was, winning it all. Her hair was curly tonight -- the same style from our engagement pictures -- and even somehow reminiscent of the Beethoven Beauty of 20 years ago.
I might have been sitting in the back row, but I had a front row seat to greatness.
..........
P.S. About 10 minutes ago, our youngest son woke up. Mommy showed him her trophy and told him she had won. He said, with childlike excitement, "Wooooowwww, Mommy, that's soooooo cool. You have the best bakery!"
And she does.
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