Home alone: And I'm doin' fine?
By Calamity Jane
"I'll be fine, Ma," I said for about the 'thousandth' time. See, my parents
were going abroad and leaving their beloved children 'home alone'. I was
delighted at the prospect of enjoying my independence, however, convincing
my mother that I could manage the house was proving to be more difficult
than I thought.
"But didn't you bring me up like a slave for such a situation?" I asked.
Oops, bad move. Maybe I didn't express myself right. Sigh. "I can do this
mother (getting exasperated). After all, I am a mature, responsible, dependable,
capable, reliable, sensible individual," I said smiling at each adjective
that seemed to describe me perfectly. So why was she giving me a sceptical
look? Well,  whether
she liked it or not she had to leave and finally, yes finally, I assumed
the role of 'Queen Bee'. Being Queen Bee, my task was to supervise, while
my subordinates (my sibling in this case) did all the work.
Unfortunately dictatorship didn't go down too well with him and fearing
a revolution I took up some domestic tasks. So, like the other members
of my sex, into the kitchen I went... Hmmm, now how do I manage this salt
business? Ugh, too little salt. Whoops, too much. What do I do next? Don't
put salt into the next curry and no one will notice. That was a good start.
Lunches turned out pretty okay, except that the rice was a bit watery and
I seriously considered serving it as milk rice. But I found out that once
put it in the sun for some time it dries up pretty well. So I got over
that hurdle.
My 'exploding chicken', or as we like to call it 'chicken on the roof
special' was not so easy to get over. In a bit of a hurry one day, I decided
to use the pressure cooker to turn out a chicken curry. 'Haste makes waste',
my mother told me over and over again. But with her miles away, hasty I
was. Having left the chicken on the fire I went about finishing everything
else I had to do and when I felt that the chicken had cooked long enough
I went back into the kitchen to check up on it. Thinking (yes, I do that
on occasion) that I had let out all the steam I proceeded to lift the lid.
But before I could move it even an inch, the lid flew off and my precious
chicken curry shot up to the heavens.
For a minute I was paralysed. For, I was almost knocked unconscious
by the lid and had gallons of chicken gravy sprayed in my eyes.
I had to feel my way to the bathroom to wash my eyes and then I returned
to the kitchen. Oh my, it was a sight! Imagine, if you will, my mother's
neat little kitchen with everything in its place splattered with chicken
curry. Chicken wings dangled on the plate rack, the tops of the cupboards
were decorated with drumsticks and every time I lifted something while
cleaning up the kitchen I discovered more chicken.
Our dogs, however, enjoyed the explosion and in a rather euphoric state
gobbled all the chicken off the floor (at least it saved me the trouble
of cleaning it). After a whole evening spent de-chickening the kitchen,
there were no traces of the disaster except for the ceiling. But I think
we can paint that before mom gets home...as a sort of 'Welcome Back' surprise.
'Home Alone' is not as glamorous as it sounds, I've decided. No, no,
it's not the all night parties scenario. It's remembering, at two in the
morning, that you haven't washed clothes in a week and there is nothing
left to wear and spending the early hours of the morning in a frantic effort
to have something to wear by morning (thank God for spin driers!).
It's also sleeping with sick dogs and following them around the house
trying to force medicine down their throats. Finally it's about remembering
to lock all the doors, closing the gas properly, ironing heaps and heaps
of clothes (which have this horrible habit of piling up) and dealing with
all sorts of sounds you hear at night. At the rate I'm going, I should
be a degree holder in crisis management!
But, I'm surviving and despite the little disasters, doing things my
way. (Excuse me, Mr. Sinatra, that should be my theme song) On the brighter
side, just one week more to go. And as I look at the wholesome lunch on
the table, I am so happy and proud of myself. I could jump up and down
for joy (but I don't, just in case). One more curry to go and lunch will
be ready. Everything is perfect... whoops... crash... ouch... splat! Well,
almost perfect. |
