I think I’ve finally convinced mum to buy a cleaning robot. I don’t understand why more people don’t have one. In other news it appears that cooking the chicken has been delegated to moi, since I’m the only one in the house who understands the mysteries of weight, time and temperature and the use of salt and pepper. After all, I supply the spices for this house and, as we know, whoever controls the spice controls the universe!
You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to make a Dune joke.
In other food related news I am cooking a lasagne tomorrow. I was informed of this five minutes ago……..suits me I like lasagne. The last time I cooked lasagne I was being a bastard. S had done one of her periodic, “We’re never having sex again” things where she decides for nebulous and diverse reasons that we should never sleep together ever again. So I’m like, “Yeah, sure, cool, I’m fine with that. What are we having to eat? How about we do some shopping and I make us a lasagne?”
So there I was making bechamel sauce, I make everything from scratch but the pasta, chatting away to S who isn’t being massively responsive, in fact she was mostly just leaning on the side looking at me over the top of a glass of red wine, all attempts to involve her in the cooking having failed miserably. Then suddenly little fingers with varnished nails wrapped themselves around my waist and a little chin came to rest on my shoulder. I turned to look at her out of the corner of my eye and she gave me this ironic smile and said, “You know that you’re a bastard, right?” and I am like, “I am well versed in the dark arts of bastardry”.