I am writing a long post about books, and I don't have time to finish it now, because I'm off to the theatre ('August: Osage County'). Just in case you were wondering why I hadn't blogged since Monday.
Meanwhile: yesterday I was on the phone to my mother and she mentioned that she had burnt the soup. Burnt the *soup*? Is that even possible? Apparently so. She had put it on the hob, and then forgotten all about it while she pottered around outside doing some gardening. Poor woolly-minded woman, it's tragic what age does to a once-intelligent brain. Hung up the phone, went out, met a trio of handsome men in the library, indulged in semi-flirtatious highly intelligent chit chat because I am both gorgeous and smart. From there to Portuguese class with my mother, that poor, mentally-enfeebled lady. Crap class. Unbelievably crap class. Teacher breathtakingly appalling, we both agree that we are never going back despite having booked for ten weeks. Poor appalling teacher, I am so much cleverer than she. I walk out early, feeling superior. Get home, open front door. Entire house filled with acrid smoke. I have burnt the stock. Left it on the hob for EIGHT HOURS. Fossilised remains of a chicken is welded to the bottom of the pan. Smoke alarm has beeped itself to death. Not much time left before entire house would have burnt down.
Moral, anyone?
Employee gets laid off due to extreme body odor: ‘I genuinely felt bad for
him. He had only just started the job and hadn’t really had the chance to
show what he could contribute. You could tell he felt embarrassed and
ashamed’
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To pass the smell test
I felt really identified with this story because I've had to deal with this
issue multiple times in my life. I don't mean with my bo...
2 hours ago
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6 comments:
Pride goeth before a pall?
I hate to tell you that we have beaten this. Back in the days when we had infant children, we boiled bottle nipples in a large pan before making up the next batch. (I hasten to add that I did breast-feed, but was forced for medical reasons to supplement.) One day, my husband set up a pot of nipples and forgot them when we were invited out to lunch by old friends. We came home to a ruined pan boiled dry, and no sign of the nipples except for the noxious odour of burnt rubber. It took a long time for the smell to abate, even after we laundered the curtains.
We've managed to burn soup as well.
I've burnt soup. Once, I turned a pizza into charcoal by falling asleep.
Ouch, Marie. Lucky the house didn't go up in flames... Have frequently burnt soup, but weirdly I always knew I was pregnant when I started burning carrots. I don't know what that was all about. Hope you haven't left anything on the hob while you're out...
Moral of the story: Whether we like it or not, we turn into our parents. Poor soup.
I can't make stock, burnt or otherwise. I just get very weak, practically tasteless soup.
I will also try and get hold of RR after you were so gushing.
Uh, that you are gorgeous and smart? That's the moral I'd draw from it, if it were me.
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