By JACQUI PORTER
To my darling husband,
Now might be an appropriate time for me to come clean about a few small misunderstandings that may have made their way into our family. These things happen, its no one’s fault. Let’s not dwell on it.
Firstly, you know those homemade sausage rolls that you love so dearly? Yes you do. The ones packed with vegies and goodness and snuggled so nicely in their puffy little jackets. Well, darling. We won’t be having them anymore.
You see, the chicken shop that I used to buy them from has closed.
It’s awkward for all of us, I know. I apologise if my use of the word “homemade” mislead you. When I say I “made” them, I meant of course that I “made” them hot but putting them in the oven for the recommended time. Did I leave that out? I see how you might have been confused.
Secondly, those cute little chickpea and veggie balls that you sometimes see me feed our son for dinner? I can’t go into all the details of their delicious composition but I know it’s good.
I know this because they come from the “Macro” section of Woolies. They only have good stuff in that aisle. It’s the only stuff I don’t feel guilty about when other people watch me load my trolley contents on to the conveyer belt at the checkout.
Again, I know, you may have been slightly misled about the birthplace of these veggie balls, due to the fact that I take them out of their little green and white bag and pack them into zip-locks in our fridge to give them that authentic “made with love” look, but nevertheless MACRO.
I guess I should just keep going with the confessions, yes?
Okay, you know that fresh eucalyptus smell that greets you at the door when you come home of an evening? It screams: “I’m scrubbed clean, hygienic and liveable.”
Well, I guess it’s true in the sense that the doorstep is. It thoroughly enjoys the nightly spritz of Dettol I I give it right before your arrival. You could say we have the cleanest doorstep in Sydney.
The rest of the house… not so much.
And while I’m airing some dirty laundry, I guess I may as well talk about the dirty laundry.
I mean it’s clean now… just a few sizes smaller. I cannot, for the life of me, work out how not to shrink your t shirts. And frankly, I’m sick of lying about it and agreeing that yes, your arms are looking bigger, and absolutely you’ve filled out across the shoulders, to disguise my washing shortcomings.