Bowl won this time

potato salad

First, let me state that the story I am about to share is not in any way, shape, or form, meant to malign the venerable name of a company that has been manufacturing fine kitchenware since, I don’t know, the dawn of time perhaps? I can’t be sure but the first cave persons may have used Pyrex to whip up a nice mammoth brisket. I have long been a fan of the product.

No names have been changed, however, because I see no reason to protect myself from the widespread knowledge that I am probably an idiot.

The holiday weekend was beautiful overall, and as is the law of the land — or at least the midwest — one is required to have potato salad and picnic. I don’t make the rules. I just live here.


I dutifully made my “special” potato salad — baked potato salad with bacon and ranch. It is delicious if I do say so myself. I bake the potatoes, I add fresh crisped bacon, sharp cheddar, onion, ranch and mayonnaise (no, not Miracle Whip. Put that back. Mayonnaise. Preferably Duke’s but I can let Hellman’s slide). I chopped.

I sliced. I mixed. Sea salt was involved. The fancy pink kind. Finally, in preparation for the potato salad’s picnic debut, I slid it all into my beautiful crystal clear Pyrex bowl.  It’s the one with the red lid, about four quarts in size. You could bathe a small baby in this thing. It is a member of the family. I have had it for about a decade or so and it goes EVERYWHERE. I do love this bowl. It is the official bowl of picnics, holidays and great family dinners.

I sent texts throughout the day about my “best ever” and “so delicious” potato salad I was bringing to the picnic. I was having fun hyping up a simple picnic staple. I take my attention where I can get it.


Little did I know I was about to get more attention than I knew what to do with ­— namely, by face planting into the potato salad bowl. One minute I was walking along the sidewalk on my way to the car, and the next Mr. Wonderful was leaning over me with great concern.

Glass, blood and mounds of potato salad surrounded me. My left arm was literally buried in shards of glass. I was hustled into the house where the wisdom of marrying a Boy Scout became apparent. I stood stunned while Mr. Wonderful picked glass out of the wounds and bandaged me up. I cannot even explain how that glass shattered. It was like an explosion. I won’t go into details but suffice to say it was bad. Really bad. Mr. Wonderful hosed down the sidewalk so the kids wouldn’t see it and panic.

I would be lying if I said I was not immediately rethinking the wisdom of carting glass around. Had I had a plastic bowl this would not have happened. In fact, I did have a plastic bowl in my hands as well. They were stacked. The plastic bounced and skidded across the sidewalk. The lid didn’t even come off. Meanwhile, I was pulling shards of glass out from under my fingernails for hours — zero out of five stars. I do not recommend it.

To be clear, this is not the fault of the nice Pyrex people. I am fairly certain they did not design their product for people to smash it onto the concrete and then lay down on it. This was clearly my operator error.

As is the somewhat creepy but also convenient way of social media, I received an invitation to an online Tupperware party even as Mr. Wonderful was still treating my wounds. It’s like they know. Rest assured I have already ordered a PLASTIC “salad bowl.” The next time an ant veers in front of me, or whatever happened that caused me to go face-first into the potato salad, I am going to be ready!

I now have bandages from thumb to forearm. People cannot help but notice. I am thinking I need a better story for when people ask about the bandages. “I fought off a bear” just sounds so much cooler than “I fell into a bowl of potato salad.”

On the other hand — pun intended — if I do not share this story then my potato salad — and Pyrex bowl — will have died in vain.

Within hours of the accident, Mr. Wonderful realized that one of the security cameras that scans our yard probably recorded my swan dive into the salad. I am all about sharing, but I swear if I end up as a meme or funny video online, I’m going to have to put a lid on him.


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Kymberly Foster Seabolt lives in rural Appalachia with the always popular Mr. Wonderful, two small dogs, one large cat, two wandering goats, and a growing extended family.



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