In my fantasy life, my husband should sweep in nightly with brown paper bags containing champers and flowers. He should say things like Darling! That smells delicious before pouring me a glass of bubbly, tucking his napkin into his collar and sitting down to a civilised dinner.
Instead he bursts into the kitchen with a What is it? I am starving Babe, put it in my mouth; douses the food with a splurt of Worcestershire Sauce before he’s tasted it … and, then, appetite sated, he looks at me and asks Why are you so cross?
The truth of the matter is that I am very seldom cross, but very deep furrows formed on my forehead at an early age, and the Why are you so cross? question has been asked of me be almost everyone I encounter on a daily basis. Which made me cross …
Anschone, who looks after my skin at R’nR MediSpa, texted me a few week back to say that they now have a plastic surgeon on board and I went off to do something I never imagined I would: I had a Botox injection and my furrows have gone away.
My forehead went smooth, lovely, like the smoothest, silky icing on a sacher torte! You may say that my frown has been ‘deconstructed’.
‘Deconstructed’ is the current catch phrase in the food world too. Lucky that; my attempt at making my own cannelloni tubes from scratch yesterday went pear shaped and the tubes collapsed during cooking.
So, when the man burst in asking what it was, I could say, poshly, It is deconstructed meat and spinach cannelloni!
He hasn’t asked me – for a long while – why I am cross. Nobody has.
Then again, nobody has exclaimed that I am looking rather uncross either …