Since the bottom had fallen out of some project at my wife's work she wasn't suppose to make it to the party. The word she had passed to me was that nothing would return to normal until the proverbial fan was taken apart and the poop cleaned from the blades. But thirty minutes into the party she walks in the door and heads straight to the big bowl that supposedly contained her special homemade salsa.
To this day one of the biggest differences between my wife and me is that she wants to fit in with the overall suburban hive mind. Where as I literally dream of the day when we can move to a place where individuality is not thought of as a mental illness. Needless to say, she knows me and my general disdain for those we live among. For that reason her beeline to the salsa was to find out what kind of stunt I pulled on the unsuspecting proles. The first problem she had was that the salsa was a hit, most of it was already gone leaving just a couple of ounces from which she could decided what nefarious ploy I had attempted.
What drove my wife crazy though was how the two seemed to look down on the working moms associated with the class. That's probably the reason why my wife suddenly forgot about my little trick. Once home nothing was ever mentioned about me pulling a fast one with the salsa. But I know my wife took a nice chunk of satisfaction with the idea that the two uppity witches couldn't tell homemade salsa from cheap store bought stuff.