The cat purred gently at my feet as I peeled the potatoes for tonight’s dinner. I was humming “Do You Know The Way To San Jose?” and happy in my task. From the kitchen window, I could see my dear Problem Children tearing up the lawn to make mud-pies for their teddies. “Little tykes!” I thought, smiling and shaking my head at their wanton unruliness. Nothing could interfere with my happy mood. My thoughts turned to Blogland.
The Problem Older Husband entered the kitchen, striding purposefully, on his way to somewhere (maybe the garage or maybe San Jose). He stopped short when he saw me at my peeling.
“Are we having potatoes, again?” he asked
“Yes!” I answered lightly, trying to ignore the slight emphasis on “again”. Nothing could spoil my peeling reverie.
“We’ve had them a lot this week. Are you on a potato kick or something?”
Again I ignored the hint of accusation in his voice. Nobody accusing me of potatoes would bring me down. I tossed my head, nonchalantly.
“No, I just fancied potatoes, and besides, they’re one of the few vegetables Problem Daughter 1 will eat.”
“She’s certainly getting some practice”, said Problem Older Husband.”
This was as water off a mallard to me. I began humming again. Problem Older Husband had a momentary rummage in the fridge and then, munching on a pickle, watched me for a minute. I peeled a bit more. “I’m going back to find (boom) some peace of mind lalala.” I sang quietly.
“These are new potatoes” he said, “You know, you don’t really need to peel them. Just a scrub and they’re ready for the pot.”
I turned magisterially from my bucket of peelings and fixed the Problem Husband with a cool stare.
“Well, I’m just saying” he said, clearly perturbed by the iciness of my very, very cool stare. “It’s not what you do with new potatoes.”
Turning the stare temperature even further down, I fixed the Problem Husband with a brass monkeys look and quoth:
“Loyalty to petrified opinions never yet broke a chain or freed a human soul in this world–and never will. Mark Twain.”, said I, wondering if I’d remembered the words correctly.
“Right” he said.
To a casual obserever I may have seemed, then, to return unperturbed to my work. But in my heart played a Mariachi band and I partied inwardly with a silly inward hat on my inward head. A smiled played secretly about my lips.
Another kitchen sink-triumph! Another night I have earnt my rest.
A wee spot post-post business. I’m “wirepeach” of the comment box, by the way. In case anybody thought I wasn’t responding to your comments. I may be from the Outer Hebrides but I was not brought up in a field. Manners maketh the blogger. Sorry, for the confusion. I’ll change it in a bit.