The Perfect Pot of Spaghetti

This is one for the books …

Shortly after signing with Ford Models, I moved into what we called the Models Apartment. Whenever in New York for work, I was afforded the benefit of sharing a fourth-floor walk up in Tribeca with the teenie-bopper models who currently called it home. Yes that’s right: A forty-three year old Southern woman sharing an apartment with a group of egomaniacal girls young enough to be my daughters.

One evening, after a long day of flying by the seat of my pants, in and out of subways (mass transit, like a true New Yorker), three “go sees,” one request, a stop by Ford, and—of course—a little shopping (duh!), I dragged myself up the stairs to our apartment and fumbled for my keys at the door.

Inside, I found I was the first to arrive.

Okay, what could I do for dinner? Certainly didn’t expect a meal from the girls. Unless you count a stick of celery or, on a special occasion, a carrot.

I was thrilled to see someone had left fresh parsley out on the counter. Perfect! I’d been meaning to whip up some of my good ole spaghetti sauce anyway … I’d even bought the ingredients a few days before up the road at Dag Foods.

Within minutes, I had the pot of sauce simmering away. It smelled a bit different than usual, but I was sure it would be fine. Made it just like I always do and it was always delicious!

Oh, wouldn’t the girls be thrilled to come home to a plate of hot spaghetti! Just the thing to show I’m a team player and to bring my roomies and me a bit closer!

I decided to wait until they got home to eat, so I went in my room to unwind. A while later, I heard them coming up the stairs, talking a mile a minute.

I greeted them at the door. “Hey girls!” (flash Ford model smile) “Guess what! I made us some spaghetti!”

“That’s awesome, Lee Ann,” they said to me. Then, looking around the kitchen, they asked, “But where’s the pot?”

“The pot? You mean the one I used for the sauce? It’s right here.”

“No! Our pot. You know, like the kind you roll joints with. We left it right here on the counter for the party later.”

You have got to be kidding me!

Pot Spaghetti??

Well, if I’d expected them to be pleased with my efforts, I was deeply mistaken.

I just stood there with my jaw hanging. What else could I do? Me, three pot-smoking models, and a spaghetti sauce that could light up Times Square!

The next morning I called Patty at Ford …

And moved. 😦

The Bipolar Experience – LeeAnn Jefferies


19 thoughts on “The Perfect Pot of Spaghetti

  1. CindyNavarro says:

    That is hilarious!! Great story!! 🙂
    I would love to hear their version too, though. LOL! Hopefully, they have grown much wiser with age.

  2. Gayle Mills says:

    Love this story. When I was a young thing straight out of college (back when dinosaurs roamed the earth), I lived in a 3rd floor attic apartment in Charleston, S.C. The girl in the apartment across from mine wanted my recipe for lasagna so that she could impress her navy officer boyfriend. I came home from work the next day, and this awful odor assaulted me the minute I opened the ground floor door. Turns out she couldn’t find a clove of garlic so she substituted cloves and garlic. Needless to say, they ate out.

  3. Kristy Elkins says:

    Leeann…I am friends with Eva Marie Everson and just read your spaghetti story. I can’t imagine what went through your mind when you heard that instead of fresh parsley, you had yourself a fresh stash of pot added to the sauce! I needed a good laugh out loud and definitely got it with this blog. Thank you for sharing 🙂

  4. leeannjefferies says:

    Hey Kristy!! Any friend of Eva Marie Everson is surely a friend of mine!! Glad you enjoyed my Pot story!!! Only me!! I appreciate you reading my blog!! Maybe we will meet soon! 🙂

  5. Stephanie says:

    I love this! I’m surprised though that the other girls didn’t want to eat it! My question is, did you get high from the “strange smell?!” LOL! I can not wait to see you on the 4th!!! I have missed you and your amazing friendship!! I love you!!!

  6. Julie Barnhill says:

    So….did you eat the spaghetti sauce or not? I’d think heat would kill the pot-ishness, sorta like dessert flambe, right? GREAT story!

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