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[Jul. 7th, 2008|10:30 pm] |
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Envy is an evil thing, and while consuming, I'm often consumed by it. I spent yesterday barefoot and bloated in the kitchen preparing for the week ahead. The soup (spinach and yoghurt - a Toby Ray concoction) was perfect, the beef was a wee bit over done, the salad was basil-less but lemony-delicious nonetheless. So, today at work I feasted, and then I feasted some more. After an elevenses’ of a peppered avocado salad, I went to the kitchen to heat up my soup. The kitchen at my office is a vile reminder of the bedsitland of yesteryear. It's next to 'poo' toilet, and at the end of 'skanky damp' corridor. The plaster peels off the wall in big chunks. I wrote the word 'dirty' in the grease on the wall 2 years ago and the word is still there. I poured my soup from my classic brushed steel flask and popped it into the huge beige 1980's microwave (that the MD found in a skip), and I idly waited the 4 minutes it takes to heat a bowl of soup in a vintage microwave. While waiting for the soup to heat, I checked out the familiar debris of the kitchen…the toolbox with a saw sticking out of it...the ironing board...the peadophiles 'dream dolly' locked in her plastic box... and then I saw it......a brushed steel flask....like mine....but a few inches longer, and with a couple more inches of girth. I flushed with jealousy. Who was making fun of me? Who would dare do such a thing! As my anger exploded, so did my soup, and I left the kitchen empty handed and vowing never to return. |
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| Comments: |
This is the funniest thing I've read for ages. I know what that's like. I remember, when I lived in Bethnal Green and was involved in a group who used to visit the "elderly poor" and do their shopping and stuff for them, or just provide a bit of company. It was quite good fun talking to all these pensioners who had war tales of the East End to tell, but most of them didn't have much in the way of stuff you would want in your own house. One old lady, who had no carpet anywhere in her house and a towel at the spare room window instead of a curtain ( I eventually bought her curtains at a charity shop for her living room and two bedrooms...they were lovely and she cried when I put them up for her ) had a very tiny ceramic Kremlin which her cousin had sent her from Russia in 1929. It was absolutely lovely and I was intensely jealous of her for having it.
It'd be mean, and bad Kharma, and stuff....but you could swap out the 2 stainless containers, and keep the big one! Not that I'm recommending you do, mind you!
Did you clean up the soup-shrapnel, or are you waiting for someone else to write, "dirty!" in it first? | |
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