How do you spite an anorexic, a vegetarian and a Jew?

Well, if your name’s Timmy, you do it by disobeying (not accidentally, either) your wise and entirely reasonable friend’s instructions to cook the bacon separately from the peas and mushrooms, so that 3 out of 7 guests can compile their modular pasta sauces (the ano didn’t want the sauce base – which was cream – either, you understand. Turns out neither did the Jew) and not participate in the glorious combination of all of the above ingredients. Post-rugby bliss, I was ordering guests around like a demon, to get the food ready by a decent hour. Timmy starts by following my instruct… erm, I mean request, then deliberately disobeys me by adding the bacon to the mushrooms and peas “to let their flavours infuse.” Gilb’s conscience wouldn’t allow him to quash his gasp at Timmy’s insolence, and since I’m rather well-tuned to such whimpers from Gilb (and of course frantic “ssshhhh!”es from Timmy) I found out, turned beetroot red in anger, but then burst out laughing too.

Thankfully, the three guests in question were in the room next door, so we had enough time to scoop out precisely three sevenths of the pea-mushroom duo and heavily overdose it with garlic to cover any delectable smoky bacon taste (although there was no point, none of the three would know what glorious new taste sensation they were experiencing anyway). We even garnered praises for the pasta sauce from all three (okay, not the sulky ano, who had vastly altered the sauce by substituting smoked salmon for the bacon and tomato sauce for the cream).

But ja, this was a rare highlight in an otherwise decidedly shitty week, in which I experienced the following:

1. Snooping around till I found out something I wish I hadn’t known and which will cause me an endless amount of stress in resolving its impacts on my life (moral: ignorance truly is bliss. Then you can blame it on someone else)

2. Gilb’s gran suddenly diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and dying a few minutes before he got a chance to see her after months of not having done so (moral: treasure your grandparents while you have them, never neglect to pay regular visits, no matter how annoying their diatribe about the weather/their back ache/your working too hard/your not saving enough may be)

3. The very capable president of my ‘young fascists’ society unexpectedly resigning due to not being able to cope with the stress of a hectic job plus recent marriage plus running a not-for-profit youth organization (moral: sometimes your grandparents are right, you may be working too hard and not taking time to smell the roses. Do so while your senses are young enough not to have dulled! Does your sense of smell even deteriorate with age? I’m not sure)

4. After delightfully indulging in the surprisingly generous wine selection at Peas’ friend’s Indian chest exhibition, which included the likes of Meerlust’s Rubicon and Hartenberg’s Cabernet Sauvignon (and that’s not to mention the fabulous selection of chests, too), one measly tainted samoosa saw me spewing the night away (12pm, 3am and 6am) and spending the whole of Friday bed-ridden, when there was lots of work waiting for me in the office. I did get to play up the pain on the rest of the weekend, to eke more sympathy out of the Gilb, which is always a good thing (and results in a full-body massage and pedicure voucher gift, sweet dear sucker that he is). (moral: just when you’re complaining you’re too fat, something comes along and wipes out a few days’ appetite, and hopefully a few kilograms with it. You get what you ask for, after all).

One monumentally good piece of news did arise: congrats to Cherub on news of her engagement, I’m looking forward to a wonderful wedding celebration! (and you have my full permission to change the venue to somewhere outside of SA, we’ll gladly come on over!)

Oh, and on the kissing issue: on the single day of my not feeling atrocious and mustering the desire to kiss and… (all those other details you don’t want too much info on but I seem to have no problem sharing), the Gilb reported some significant improvement, but I can’t tell whether he’s just saying that to reassure me or out of genuine conviction. For your enlightenment and/or future kissing pleasure and/or future kissing confusion and/or future kissing complexes, my next post will contain Gilb’s commandments for the perfect kiss.