
Once, many moons ago, I made an error of judgement.
(yes, only that once, I have never ever made any other mistakes to do with anything in my life ever *nods sincerely*)
This tale involves gourmet pizzas, a gas oven, and a fire.
Simply, friends arrived to help celebrate my birthday, bearing aforementioned pizzas, in your stock standard cardboard boxes. These I was handed, with the instructions "put them in the oven to keep warm."
I still maintain, how were they supposed to stay warm in a cold oven?
To this day I am still mocked.
So today I made fruit salad, for the first time ever. Personally one flavour at a time is my motto where fruit is concerned, but we had our Christmas party for the slash gang today and I'm espousing the health thing at the moment.
Really, there's *nothing* more annoying than the zeal of the newly converted, is there?
(Also showed off with my new trainers all day, even when most everyone else was barefoot. (Hey, I'm breaking them in)
So, me with my assortment of fruit, a big ass knife, and a bowl. Preparations complete, I think. So I start with the apples. Happily convert them into small bite size pieces. Trille wanders into the kitchen. She's impressed by my enterprise, I can tell. 'Excellent', extolls she (there may be paraphrasing here) 'so where's the lemon juice that you are no doubt immediately about to add in order to maintain that shiny healthy quality in your yummy apples'.
I have no lemon juice.
Everyone knew about this except me. Others later added helpful hints, apparently lime is good, too.
A few weeks ago I made potato salad to take to Trille's party.
Again, first time ever. But with my stepmum's recipe, containing a total of 3 ingredients (potatoes, shallots, and S&W mayo) pretty idiotproof. Shame I didn't enquire about ratios.
Trille's comment: "mmm, creamy!" Since she was licking mayo off a spoon at that moment I allow myself the delusion that she meant it sincerely.
My Secret Santa present - 'The Servant' on DVD, and a gift voucher to the grooviest bookstore in town.
See this flick. Dirk Bogarde. If you need more incentive - Dirk Bogarde + James Fox. Subtext as a description only if you are 90 years old, a devout *insert orthodox religion of your choice* and have never heard of subtext, or in fact, sex.
For more great obsessive viewing - Dirk Bogarde in 'Victim'. Made in the sixties, is attributed to have played a part in decriminalising homosexuality in Britain. Also Dirk is HOT.
All bow before Dirk.
Disturbingly, I share this lust for Dirk in common with my Grandma.