Like most of you, I am also a victim of end-of-the-month evil monster that eats every tangible thing off my house – meat and money, fresh juice and fruits, DTH and diesel (special thanks to Indian Government for adding fuel to the fire. Irony unintended!), sometimes diapers too.
Few hours ago, while dicing the onions I had to unwillingly seek support from the creative side of my pea-sized brain to bring the best out of the only veggie in hand (and at home) to conceal the evil monster’s impact on the husband’s plate. In fifteen minutes, steaming hot porridge and a cup full of sapid onion roast (that’s not even a valid dish. Please don’t waste time browsing for the recipe) was ready. The side dish looked a bit malnourished sans the veggies but its oily red color and inviting flavor added brownie points to the amateur chef in me.
Dr.H who perambulated downstairs for dinner, sniffed his way to the kitchen and without me having to say a word, understood (perhaps, realised for the umpteenth time on the same day) that our refrigerator shelves are in dire need of his attention.
“September sucks! We ran out of pickle too, you know”, Dr.H muttered in a sluggish tone.
The inadvertent blurting out of the word ‘pickle’ slow-poisoned our positive perception about the roasted onions and intensified an unforeseen craving for pickles.
“Aw.. pickle. Wish we could eat pickle. Yeah?”, I increased the pickle greed of the other adult to an unbearable degree.
In less than a minute, the landline rang. There are only three people in the world who chooses to connect to us via landline – the silver-haired neighbor whenever baby D screams at the top of his voice (which is ALL the time), my father to confirm, reconfirm and re-reconfirm the sanity of our gas stove, heater and every other electrical appliance we own (he has a phobia for them, the age and ailments have worsened it) and my MIL when our mobiles are out of coverage. The call was from our septuagenarian neighbor. Baby D was in bed, his mouth zipped tight, thus the neighbor’s call puzzled us. Considering the time of call, we rushed to the back gate and waited for the neighbor to show up. The moment he peeped out of his house with a bottle in hand, we were taken aback. It was a pickle jar!
Well, well, Walls are meant to have ears for a good reason!
After being mollycoddled by the luck factor, I have decided to keep my hopes up for the next three days as well. Here’s the plan:
Wednesday: “Aw.. I wish someone could help me with the dishes!”
Thursday: “Aw.. I wish someone could change baby D’s diapers and put him to sleep!”
Friday/Friyay: “Aw.. I wish someone could adopt me as their child (NEIGHBORS WILL BE GIVEN HIGH PREFERENCE) and offer a picnic to slumberland until Mom is home!”
Here’s to pickle and pickle-induced hopes!!!