Today’s things are: brownie, spatula, drama
The Good Life
As he entered the front door his sense of smell was attacked by the aroma of baking chocolate. Even before opening the kitchen door, his mouth was salivating.
This was quite a novel experience. Both his wife and he had worked in a big accountancy firm until quite recently when his wife announced she couldn’t stand it any longer and resigned. They had paid off the mortgage last year and as she argued, they didn’t need two incomes coming in to support their lifestyle anymore. Both their kids had grown up and had independent lives of their own now.
Why shouldn’t his wife give up work if she wanted to? The fact that she was in a senior position and so would lose out on the larger of the two incomes did not really worry him at all. He was only five years away from retirement anyway.
His wife had normally got in later than he did and it had routinely been his job, being the first one home, to sort out something for dinner, usually something simple like pasta.
To arrive home to find his wife had been baking was a new experience and he rather liked it.
He entered the kitchen to find his wife waving a spatula around in an agitated manner, Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture was playing on the radio and she was conducting to the music.
“Hi Love, what’s that you’re baking?”
“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in” she replied, spinning around and looking a bit embarrassed.
I went over and gave her a big hug and a sloppy kiss.
“What are you baking?” I asked again.
“I decided to make some brownies. I am also making Chicken avec Champignon a la grecque.”
“Sounds lovely. You’re obviously thriving if you have the energy to do some baking. I can’t remember the last time you did some baking.”
“Don’t you remember, it was twelve years ago when you threw my cakes at the neighbours cat who was digging up your begonias. I swore I’d never bake anything again.”
“I remember you made such a drama about it. Well they were rock cakes and you seemed to take the name literally. It stopped the cat too. Not that I aimed at it, I only aimed near it to scare it away.”
“If the neighbours had known what you did to their Fluffikins, they wouldn’t have got us that bottle of champagne for Christmas.”
“Well what the eyes don’t see the heart can’t cry over” I responded sagely.
“That’s good. You could put that in a book” She said tartly “Now get changed, your dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Perhaps you’ll choose a bottle of wine?”
This was turning out to be a great day. Nothing was more likely to debilitate me than coming home after an hour spent in rush hour traffic.
Life felt so good. Only winning the lottery could make this moment feel better.
Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 03/August/2018