Sacrilege

A very, very rare occurrence happened in my kitchen yesterday.  I had been thinking about it, but doing it was a different matter.  The fridge was overloaded with left over party foods.  I stood and looked at it.  Then whoosh out came custard slices, whipped cream and scones.  The bin was close and the lid open.  Then in I tipped a whole load of crisps, peanuts and hola hoops.  Lastly some moulding fruit.  It looked like someone had vomitted.  Yet moments before I was wondering how I could preserve these lovelies.  What a waste.  There is more to go by the weekend.  Tragic.

You see I was brought up not to over-indulge.  I remember my dear Aunty Betty would count the slices of bread and butter out when we went for tea.  There was never any left over and no question of more. It would not occur to us to even think we wanted more.  And, like so many of my age, it was polite, good manners, right etc to eat everything on your plate.  One would be reminded of the starving children of Africa or threatened with 'you'll get it for your breakfast if you don't eat it now'.  They were never huge portions but perhaps contained sprouts or something else that I fadded about.  I do remember as a teenager scraping my dinner into the bin because it had been reheated for when I got home from work.  Mom would put it out on a plate, gravy and all, then on a pan of boiling water (no microwaves then).  The gravy would all dry up round the edges and, being a person who eats with her eyes, it looked very unappetising.

We never snacked between meals in those days and biscuits were limited to two or three at bedtime with a glass of milk.  Having some chocolate finger biscuits at another Aunt's house was a great treat.

Having ate well all day my husband came home as the tempter.  He didn't realise it of course but after a long day at work and then a drink with his friend he went to the fridge and rescued the chocolate cheesecake (he might have guessed that too was destined for the bin). My first thought was that I was peckish and perhaps could have a small slice. Thankfully he didn't ask if I wanted any so I didn't have to voice my thoughts or say 'no'.  Then he had toast.  The smell lingered through the kitchen to my comfy sofa.  It was no good I had to have something.  I boiled a cup of milk and cuddled my cocoa.  I looked at his tum and thought, 'what a waist'.

So into day three I go. Hi ho .....