Domestic Struggles

Gasp! November 11th? Has it been that long? The truth is that I have been drowning in the sands of wasted time. My own fault entirely.

The problem with a stainless steel plate is that it refuses to let you eat. It plays a cruel game of hard to get. As you lower your hand to tear off a piece of hot roti, it glints maliciously as it swivels away from you and comes to a stop right where your food is farthest from your hand. So you try to maneuver your hand, arm, body, chair, table and house in such a manner that you will be able to tear the roti on your stainless steel plate without it evading your every move. When this fails, you try to negotiate politely with it, offer reasonable terms for its co-operation during meals; a gentle, all-natural, lemon-scented cleaning liquid with anti-aging properties, its own personal rack in the kitchen pantry far away from all the ceramic riff-raff, a jaccuzzi. But all your offers fall to deaf ears. When temptation fails, you begin to threaten it; you will banish it to the puja room to live out its days in a thick, gooey paste of kumkum and sesame oil, or worse, you will give it to your little sister to use in her "indoor activities." But your ultimatums ellicit absolutely no response. Finally, you resort to underhanded methods. You cleverly pretend to be watching Grey's Anatomy, or reading about the antics of the revered CM and his progeny until your plate lets its guard down. Then you pounce. It doesn't work, believe me. The thair catori goes flying across the room, dal splatters all over the wall, pulav carpets the floor and the plate winks up at your stunned face in innocent amusement.