It was one of those mornings today.
My maid (cook) called in sick at 6:20am.
Good news - I was awake and reading an unputdownable book.
Bad news - it was "Bad Mothers United" by Kate Long.
I didn't even work out 'cause I was lazy.
And she had early school today.
I ploughed on, I am 43, I can deal with one measly lunch box.
'How many farfalle does she need?' I mused aloud.
'35' he answered promptly. God bless him.
Sometimes your questions need precise mathematical answers.
'How do you know how much sauce to add?'
'Well, I just do'
Sometimes I surprise myself with how good I am at food.
I blundered on after, all a-tizzy, 'cause today was going to be a good day.
I was going to make up for last week's unproductivity at work.
The sambar thingie splattered down as I picked it from the fridge.
There was sambar (small onion) pretty much everywhere.
Including the ceiling, oh heaven help me.
I calmed down as I cleaned.
I think I deserved it 'cause I was whining.
About the fridge which is over-flowing with stuff.
Shouting in my head at the maid (cook).
Anyhow the kitchen got a good wipe.
The cloths are all done for & I found sambar in the MnMs.
But order prevails, generally!
As for the lunch box?
It went with a long note from her father.
It was all ignored.
She shared the sandwich with a small boy.
She rolled the used fork in the cloth napkin.
She brought back 10 farfalle, if you must know.
