Well, I was quite excited to be listed the other day on the internet version of the Guardian, which described my blog as:'The diary of a mother of two girls - and a collector of photographs of semi-pornographic root vegetables.' For the record, I do not have a collection of such photos, I just did one post about this topic. Or maybe two. I certainly do not have a fetish for attractively shaped vegetables. No, I don't.
In any case, thank you Guardian. That makes me feel a lot more interesting than I actually am. But if the worst thing I have ever done is fondled is a root vegetable, then so be it. (Question: does it constitute an affair if the thing I like to fondle is a Swede?)
Speaking of Swedes, I went round to my Swedish friend Karl's house yesterday. He had invited John, the kids and myself over for dinner. I asked him several times to confirm the invitation, because last time his lovely lady wife Bella invited myself, the kids and my mother round for dinner, Bella served us macaroni and cheese made from a packet. I laughed hysterically and said, "That's the kids taken care of. Now where's ours?"
At this point, Bella and my mother had gone off and were smoking a joint and giggling out on the deck, so I realised, tears in my eyes, that there was no more food forthcoming. I opened the fridge. Empty. So I tried to eat the macaroni. It was disgusting. Bright orange and powdery.
Maybe you will think me harsh, but I call packaged macaroni and cheese a crime against food. Bella used to be a model and so I think she got used to not eating. And she said that once she married Karl, she decided "Never to start cooking so he wouldn't get spoilt." The only thing I've ever seen her eat at home is cereal. But luckily Karl is a good cook, so when we went round there yesterday he had made us quite a feast.
I have gone round for ghastly dinner invitations in London, to find the hosts still in bed having a nap and then they'd get up and you stand around for three hours while they 'knock something together.' But my worst food experience was maybe a time I had a boiled heart at a friend's house, or maybe the packaged macaroni. However, I'd be quite interested to know if any of you who were actually invited to dinner were served anything worse than packaged macaroni and cheese.
In my opinion, me loving and fondling or photographing a few root vegetables is really no crime at all. The real crime is that macaroni and cheese packets are sold for anything other than to coat your insides with orange radioactive waste.
Who am I? Displaced Londoner now living in the States with my two little girlies and long suffering husband. Co-author of hilarious parenting book Cocktails at Naptime www.cocktailsatnaptime.com
My mom's an Austrian, my dad's a Brit, which makes me a Britaustrian, or possibly an Austrish?