A. You find yourself washing light bulbs.
Yeah, it’s sad, but true.
We had a luncheon for some kink-minded lovely people at our house on Sunday, so of course that meant that I spent several days before-hand angsting over cleaning/gardening/making the house appear like nobody actually lives there.
I have to say that my cleaning angst reached new and previously-undiscovered peaks when the toilet actually broke – and I mean part of the porcelain bowl snapped off – during an attempt at removing the old seat in order to attach a new one. 4pm on Saturday the evening before the lunch event and I was thinking, “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuck!”
While thumbing through the phonebook for contacts details of emergency plumbing services, I had a brainwave of re-attaching the broken part with superglue, however, in order to actually do that, Master had to attack the offending wing-nut that was firmly rusted onto the screw with an angle-grinder.
I hate power tools and want to be as far away as possible from anything that could remove limbs/start fires with showers of sparks/take out an eye when something goes flying, so when Master asked me to hold the piece of porcelain so he could hold the angle-grinder with two hands, I ran away and hid.
Obviously he wasn’t impressed with that and once he’d successfully managed to remove it, I came back into the room to find his hand covered in blood. So I freaked, expecting to find a thumb missing or something, but luckily he’d just cut himself on the sharp edge of the porcelain and the injury wasn’t too dire.
But his mood had gone from pissed off to positively dire.
He mumbled many things about me being a wuss and endangering his fingers and I mentioned many things about wearing gloves and safety equipment, but to cut a long story short, the superglue worked, the new seat was attached and everything was rosy.
At 9pm on Saturday night, I decided that I’d better start making the desserts – tiramisu and tofu chocolate mousse.
Everything was going fabulously until I literally read the recipe’s instruction to ‘beat the sugar and egg yolks in a *small* bowl’. My bowl was apparently a tad too small and so I ended up wearing the egg yolks and the sugar and so did the walls and the floor.
Fortunately there were two dozen eggs in the fridge and enough sugar in the pantry to send the city of Perth bouncing off the walls ( have I mentioned Master likes to keep a well-stocked pantry???) so after changing clothes I tried again.
And it eventually worked and everything was rosy and my desserts looked scrummy and so did Master’s trifle:
(You can just see three out of the four soup terrines in the background. I’ve decided that you know you are living with Masterchef when he has four soup terrines just laying around in the cupboard.)
Master made four scrummy soups and we had several types of bread for lunch. After lunch I became coffee and cheese platter bitch and I attempted to make numerous cappuccinos, flat whites and long blacks and failed horribly at remembering who wanted what, but twenty minutes later everyone at least had something to drink.
Other than pulling up my skirt to bare my botty to the world after he’d had several alcoholic beverages, Master didn’t make me put my beaver on the table or flop out some boobies and for that I was grateful.
All in all, it was a lovely day and I enjoyed chatting with everyone and attempting to be the hostess with the mostess.