Base Ingredients

OH GOOD LORD.


Before you returned home from work, I retrieved aging
pots and pans from the overhead cupboards, examined
their rustic disposition before use. I consulted my
Grandmother's recipe book, passed down generations
into my affectionate neglect; synchronising its pages
into rare movement, charred, scarred, and blemished.
I immediately recalled my mother's words of wisdom;
her matriarchal experience flourishing like orchids -

'Always break news over a home blessed dish of
your own creation, your touch and spirit'. Situation
surveyed, with fresh eggs and packet rice (from the
corner shop next to the dry cleaners), I abided by
her distant advice. Never had I forged natural colour
from raw ingredients. Viscous yolks mated with faint
pulses, piercing the delicate film of garden peas with
giggling excitement. One surely bore fertilised fruit.

The kitchen fan whispered deathless hush above the
radio speakers; could have been, must have been (tell him,
tell him tonight). He thought I must be ill, for the
microwave hadn't rung its welcome greeting. I wasn't ill,
I was- 'I-I-I'm pregnant-' said I, stroking the flesh poking
atop my jeans, whilst tracing nervous pattern on the table
cloth. 'So I'm in no condition to clean', I smiled, breaking
his shock, before leaving the washing up in his care.

You don't know how much I loved this
In a way it was funny, but It was in a great way.
Anyway, I thought it was amazing.
You left me almost speechless

Wow, thanks so much, guys. I really appreciate it.