24 Oct When the husband’s pantry friends test my combo
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The man of the house walked in yesterday after work and instead of his customary, “hello, how was your day,” he asked, “what’s for lunch tomorrow?”
“I haven’t thought about dinner tonight, you wanna know tomorrow’s lunch?” I guessed something was amiss.
“If you haven’t prepared anything, then I’ll cook!” he volunteered with a smile.
“Oh! that’ll be great. But I’d appreciate if you could first place that laptop bag in your hand down, sloooowly, carefully that’s the finest china we have and then with all your might kick off those socks in your favourite corner, but be careful of your toe, my love, your sole was aching yesterday…”
By then he began executing the tasks absentmindedly in order, “Oh! don’t bother, just fling your trousers on the bed and spread the shirt on the treadmill, sleeves placed wide across please. Now that you’ve taken over the kitchen, I’ll sit here fanning the armpits dry.”
“Yea, I’ll make a nice sabzi for chapati now. What was that combination you gave me today?”
“When did combinations start bothering you?”
“Chapati and sambhar! Come on, is that any combination.”
“Says who?” Zap, I got clarity now.
“Nobody. I’m saying…”
“They’ve never seen you mix banana shake in upma with lemon pickle. And that yucky smelly combination of dipping bread in egg yolk …”
“Who they?” he was alert now, feigning ignorance and attempting damage control.
“Whoever that is who ridiculed you for eating chapati with sambhar in office today.”
“They have a point, isn’t it?”
“Why the hell should I get their point? Did you drive in them my points?”
“Of course, I defended. I said, I like sambhar with chapati.”
“Not yours. Mine.”
|Lunch time in office…I’ve carefully pruned the picture 🙂|
By then his sidekick walked in listening to our conversation, ” Hey papa, at least you are lucky. You have a car and money in your wallet. You can go out and eat yummy food or order. Think of me, I’m stuck with what she sends.”
They stand embraced in a hug, as if I’m the biggest catastrophe they’re stuck with.
“Listen, you Chipmunks, I’m NOT running an eatery here to pay heed to your friends’ comments. Yes, I am a lousy cook. And I have no intentions of wasting time upgrading my kitchen skills than I already do. Is that clear. You two have no choice,” I was elated with my delivery.
“Hello, hello. My papa can cook,” And they squeeze one another yet again, “Nice tasty dishes!. Come on papa, you make dinner!”
“He can’t just start yet baby. He’ll need to discuss with his pantry friends for acceptable combinations.”
“It’s okay, papu. If it’s not nice, say, mama made. What difference does it make!”