,Plate Spinning and Juggling

I am in such a good mood I look at the food and actually lick my lips. This is gonna be great: a cheeky roast in front of the telly. That doesn’t happen very often. Wow this food looks good. The salty amber coastline of moist well roasted, thickly sliced chicken, the huge homemade yorkshire puddings, the dam of shiny green beans waiting impatiently for the bite-squeak of their demise, sweet petit pois and fluffy yet crunchy roasted potatoes. I picture the thick gravy running down the sides of the Yorkshire pudding, softening the batter and making it all squishy. God I am so hungry. I sigh happily, pick up the plates and move through to the next room where we will be eating. And then I stop. I know where my wife is sitting in the next room and I have just noticed that I have picked up the plates in the wrong hands. There is slightly more chicken on the right hand plate and when I enter the room she will be expecting to be given the plate nearest her.
Shit – the plates are in the wrong hands. This is serious.
In these days of equality it must appear natural that I get the bigger plate. A teatime fluke. Could’ve been you, could’ve been me – but it was me. I can’t put the plates down now and swap hands – she can see me. She is looking right at me. I briefly contemplate crossing my arms over and somehow incorporating a sort of butler – flourish in order to disguise the fact I am giving her the worst deal, but she’ll notice that because I don’t usually present her supper with a cross handed butler flourish. It surely will raise her suspicions. I don’t want this to become awkward. Maybe if I walk into the room backwards this will appear more natural? Yes I could bump the door open with my backside, I’m sure I have seen waiters do that? But the door is already open. I can’t just walk into the room backwards, that will definitely look weird. Oh God it’s so awkward. She is raising her eyebrows now and smiling, she is giving me a classic don’t-just-stand-there-holding-the-plates-you-big-twat look. I sigh again and walk forwards into the room, putting the plate with slightly more chicken in front of her and omitting any gay manservant flourishes.
The news is on and my wife says “This poor couple got abducted by Somalian pirates and have been in captivity for over a year”.
“Well we all have our fucking problems don’t we” I say, scowling.
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August 10, 2012 · 8:40 am

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