I just want to state upfront, that the Custard Tart is not my nickname, and don’t think too deeply about that one (seriously… don’t). I’ve had my fair share of nicknames, and that isn’t one of them. Thank God.
The Custard Tart is something my dear friend brings up with me whenever I ask for her advice.
Sometimes, it’s the Deep Pan Pizza, but mostly, it goes something like this:
*Me: Friend, I need your advice [insert lengthy diatribe].
*Friend: Sure. [insert sensible advice that I should, but won’t, take].
*Me: Hmmm. I disagree.
*Friend: Remember the Custard Tart, Jess? Remember?
*Me: Yes but I think this is different. Don’t you think this is different?
*Friend: IT’S NEVER DIFFERENT JESS! IT IS THE CUSTARD TART ALL OVER AGAIN!
*Me: It’ll be fine!
In fairness, her resilience to my requests for advice is probably low, because I ask for advice all the time, and I suspect it’s always the same advice I ask for. And it is exactly like the Custard Tart, which went down like this at my high school tuckshop at morning tea:
*Me: Mmm that custard tart looks delicious. I’m getting one.
*Friend: Good idea.
5 minutes later.
*Me: I think I’m going to get another one.
*Friend: Erm… yeah no, I don’t think you should. Don’t do it.
*Me: It’ll be fine.
*Friend: It really won’t.
5 minutes later.
*Me: I’m really hungry. I’m going to get one more.
*Friend: Please! Don’t! For! The! Love! Of! God!
*Me: It’ll be fine! It will be delicious!
*Friend: You will regret this and I will remind you of it every day of your life.
10 minutes later.
*Me: Ohhhhh I feel terrible. Why? WHY DID YOU LET ME DO THIS?
*Friend: *eyes narrow*
It’s amazing my friend didn’t murder me at that point and save us both a lot of trouble. Particularly as about one year later I repeated the same mistake by eating two large deep pan pizzas, just to prove I could (respect…no?). Then I managed to repeat the Custard Tart mistake for the next 15 years without ever touching one.
Inevitably, I plead for her advice only to ignore it to follow my own distorted view, and six months later, I admit she was right, after a period of time spent blaming her for letting me date that drummer a second time/date another drummer after the first one failed/get back together with a non-committal ex repeatedly for about six years/come home from London too early/any other other failed life decision that could have been avoided had I just followed her very sensible advice instead of repeating my own pattern yet again. I like to think it shows that I have spirit and no regrets. There’s another word for it: idiocy.
In other words, I never learn. Not until something is hitting me right where it hurts (usually my stomach).
On the upside, I’ve never touched a custard tart or deep pan pizza again.
Although, I did have half a vanilla slice last year. Yep. That’s growth. I hope.