They say that with age comes wisdom. I my case it is coming to terms with the fact that I am a monumentally BAD cook. Regardless of how many utterly puke-worthy meals I place before Humphrey he still insists on inviting people over for dinner, which sends me into the corner taking up the foetal position and weeping. He knows this, but enjoys the sadistic pleasure of watching me crumple when he says "Oh, I've invited ten people over tonight for a barbecue".
"Just whack some sausages on some bread with sauce, it'll be so easy," he says.
Humphrey has no idea that NO SELF RESPECTING WOMAN would ever have anyone around for sausages on bread unless the recipients were under the age of two and unable to repeat to Mummy what they ate at Charlotte's place.
"You know I can't just have bread and sausages," I whine to Humphrey, " It's just not right."
"Why make work for yourself," he replies.
"Because THATSJUSTTHEWAYITIS!" I screech.
I would like nothing better than to be able to swan about the kitchen adding a pinch of this, a garnish of that and placing a steaming pot of heaven onto the table with a flourish. Unfortunately this never happens.
Tonight, for example, Humphrey has decided we need to gather together all the staff and have a barbecue. Usually barbecues are fairly easy to navigate. Marinate some chops, throw together a couple of salads and voila! But not me, oh no. I decide that tonight I'm going to make potato bake, that turned out fine (I think). Then I think "MMmm, there's some broccoli and cauliflower I could make a bake with that too!!" Yay yay, clappy clappy me.
What emerged from the oven were bits of half-cook cauli and broccoli swimming in a beige salt soup. I have to serve this monstrosity tonight as we have no other vegies in the pantry and the lettuce is limp. Off to the corner I go to chew my nails. Those poor, poor men are right this very minute oblivious to the Buffet From Hell they are to find themselves in front of tonight.
Humphrey seems to be oblivious to the fact that people are too polite to refuse his offers of a meal. My reputation as a culinary disaster zone has spread far and wide - possibly to Brazil. To date I haven't actually manslaughtered anyone with my cooking, but it's only a matter of time.
Humphrey also seems oblivious to the fact that I need at least a week to mentally and physically prepare for any meals out of the ordinary, not three hours prior.
Right now I feel like serving Humphrey a steaming stew of his own tongue. Damn Men!