Tuesday, 24 January 2012

The Day I Died of Dessert



If there's any good that comes from arguing with someone close, it has to be the sweet, sweet making up that follows. When I fall out with mum, it's pretty easily fixed with a sweetcorn curry for me and a little piece of jewellery for her. Blowouts with the brother are resolved with an apologetic text for me and a Saturday-brunch omelette for him; dad, flowers and chocolates for me, an innovative pasta-bake of sorts for him. D’you catch my drift? When we can relinquish our pride and look beyond the battleground of right and wrong, what we find is something pure and very selfless; a desire to make up the hurt we caused to somebody who means the world to us.

Yesterday was one such evening; spent forgiving, forgetting and (reach for the sick bucket) perhaps falling in love all over again. To top it off, I (re)claimed the crown as Queen of Desserts (trust me, you don't want to challenge me) and I'm now awaiting a Swarovski tiara (the Swarovski was his idea, only the tiara was mine, before you gasp in horror at my demands) to commemorate, on the whole, a very special evening. That's all for now; though I know I still owe you a recipe and a review, I'm afraid I'm sort of running late for work right now. So. Erm. Laters.


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