A jumble of thoughts are running amok right now. So I am simply gonna type.
I am a reluctant cook. Someone who hates getting into the kitchen. Someone who can whip up a delightful fare, but so does not enjoy the process of doing it.
Needless to say, the more I run from it, the more it haunts me.
I hired a cook to get the chore off my back atleast for dinners. She went and broke her arm two weeks ago. So I am back, wagging the belan every evening...churning out meals for a family happy to get 'good food' again. "I don't like maushi's rotis" claims the daughter. "My mama is the best cook-er" claims her brother earnestly.
Woe is me!
To top it all, the hubby takes off on a longish trip. And I'm left missing him a heck of a lot.
More so, coz here I am whipping up delicacies and there's no one to 'enjoy' them. No one to praise the cook or even give a kiss on tomato puree stained cheeks. No one to come to the kitchen and give a warm comforting hug. And no one who can wipe bowls clean and leave no left-overs!
My fridge is crammed. There is just so much food inside. Coz silly me does not know how to cook for less than four people!
Hubby dear, do come home soon...else the fridge is gonna burst open and...and...you will be responsbile for it!