Friday 17 May 2024
It is Friday around 8am, a colleagues has arrived at work with a plaster on her arm and is regaling us with the tale that lead to the unfortunate injury. It involves a mishap with a knife and some fragrant 'Yankee candles' as she was preparing finishing touches to a family soiree. I am full of sympathy for the cut, which looks truly awful... but inside my head, my own carving knife calamity from earlier this week resurfaces. Alas, the setting is far less glamourous than soirees and atmospheric scentedness ... and, not for the first time, I wonder where exactly I was hiding when 'domestic goddess' tips were being handed out...
Let me re-set the scene as we head for my kitchen! I am rushing in, late, from work. Smallboy is wearily busing it home from the library and will be, I am sure, as tired and hungry as I am. I rummage frantically around the freezer and am overjoyed to unearth some burgers, nice burger buns and few French fries. Ok, so I know it's not topping any health eating gourmet cuisine hit list ... but it is quick, easy and a crowd-pleaser. All in all, think I,
"Result!"
Then comes the snag. The burgers come in a box of 10, are frozen solidly together and I only need 2. What to do? Well, I reach for a small knife and start hacking. I crash and hammer cheerily away until I notice the knife...
Oh my goodness ... it is missing a bit. But here is the question, was it missing the tip when I started...or is the metal fragment now buried in a burger?
For some unfathomable reason, probably to do with the clock now showing 7:30pm, I decide to hope for the best and 'cook' on. As my son, turns his key in the lock I am ready to usher him to a comfy seat and present him with a plate of tasty looking food,
"Err .. there is something you might want to look out for while you eat....!"
I mutter, as he picks up his cutlery to begin.
Thank the Lord that Smallboy has more sense than me. In truth, my son is incredulous and, however famished he may be, all thoughts of putting any of it into his mouth are cast aside and forensic burger dissection is instantly underway. Within seconds he is brandishing a small piece of metal accusingly at me. How appalling! The offending items are cast into the food bin and we finish our long day with a dismal offering of burger buns with French fries and lettuce.
Later, Smallboy is the talk of the family WhatsApp, letting his sisters know of my latest culinary crimes and who can blame him? Even by my standards, this is a real lowpoint. But how to make amends?
Back at work, I glance at the clock. There is still 5 minutes before our morning meeting begins. I reach for my phone and text my son,
"I'll pick you up from the library tonight and ... let's go out for tea!"
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