Frying again?
An introduction to the daily struggles with our rambling father.
Perhaps, a perfect world for Dad, is a world in which cooked food does not smell.
Bang goes the front door. The booming sound rattles through the house as he thuds down the hallway. Panic mode is activated. The extractor fan is on full-blast. The kitchen doors are fully closed. A mental timer ticks while they wait for the inevitable.
Like clockwork, he proceeds to deliver the words they all dread: "frying, again?"
"But, Dad!" Sam exclaims, as she rather proudly displays her perfectly fried egg. "We're fending for ourselves!" Hannah grumbles under her breath, as she distributes the feast of fried onions and tomatoes.
He walks into the smog-filled living room. We lose any remaining hope that our father will not ramble. And so it begins...
"The house is full of smoke! Was the extractor fan on? Were the doors closed? You've stunk the place out! Can't you just have toast? What's wrong with toast? The house bloody smells! Open the windows! Where's the incense? Who let them cook?"
*He kicks the dog*
"You smell, too".
12:30
It continues. Dad's best bud and employee arrives to drop off the van. Dad chooses not to greet him with the conventional "Hello", but, instead, "Sorry about the smell, mate. The girls have stunk the bloody house out."
18:00
Hannah cooks sweet, sweet Mexican food for all of the family. Who doesn't love burritos? Dad, apparently.
"This house always bloody smells" he roars, as he drowns the proximity (and the dogs) with Febreze. He soon quietens down when the food is served up, of course.
22:00
One last spray of Febreze, a grunt at the smelly dogs, and he trots off to bed to rest well, before another day of rambling tomorrow.
- Hannah & Sam
0 comments:
Post a Comment