I look around my galley kitchen. I experience a serious pout. A determine that no-one really understands what constitutes a kitchen and that we must adopt a new campaign forthwith. Everyone else has "a room of their own," a "bolt hole" or an office. I on the other hand, have to share my only working space with six other people. This kind of discrimination shall cease forthwith. The new campaign shall be to remove anything that does not fall within the category of ‘kitchen necessities.’
I pick up the tray of glued and drying Pokemon as well as a slew of screwdrivers, as posidrive always gets on my pip. I gather other people’s abandoned sheets of paper, receipts and post it notes. I collect a multifarious collection of widgets, wires and plugs.
When they all tumble home with their dad in tow, I am ready for them.
My youngest son is first. He stops dead in his tracks, the epitome of frozen cartoon caricature, “alert! Alert! Spillage in aisle four!” The others crash into his statuesque form from the rear. I look above the heap of children to their dad, “so……..what’s going on?” he enquires foolishly.
“I’m putting you all on formal notice. From now on, only kitchen things will be allowed houseroom in the kitchen. I shall confiscate any deviations!”
“Intruder alert! Intruder alert! Intruder alert!”
“What’s up with him by the way?”
“Just the usual.” He skates past us grabbing his fluffy Garfield toy and disappears.
“Whataya talking about Mom,” she asks with an air of scoff.
“I’m saying that all this rubbish skulling around my kitchen has to go.”
“What…….rubbish?”
“Toys, tools, homework,…….I could go on and on and on.”
“You are!”
“Homework…………is… er…….rubbish?”
“No of course not. Homework isn’t rubbish it just shouldn’t be in the kitchen where it can get lost or wet or…..” I fizzle out as usual as I notice a conspiratorial glance between them, accompanied by cheesy grins and Groucho Marx eyebrows. “O.k. Mom. From now on we’ll keep our rubbish outayur personal space, won’t we!” she beams with a collaborative arm around his shoulders. She propels him from the room with stifled giggles.
“Hmm……..that went well,” he adds unnecessarily. “So that’s what you’ve been up to whilst we were out?”
“Yes. Can’t you see? The kitchen is immaculate!” He glances around, airily and opens a cupboard. “So…….since when did cameras consititute kitchen necessities?”
“Well I need to have a camera close at hand,…….just in case…….they move so quickly…..I can’t dash away to get a camera from some obscure location every time……or I’d miss getting the evidence on celluloid.”
“Digital.”
“Pardon?”
“And what about all these plant cuttings………very unhygienic having soil around the kitchen.”
“Well……I have to keep an eye on them……so that they don’t die…….whilst I’m not paying attention…..”
“You could also keep an eye on them outside, in the garden.”
“I’m short sighted. I’d need a telescope!”
“Talking of telescopes, why are there so many magnifying glasses around the computer? Come to think of it, why is the computer in the kitchen at all? Do you know that the average keyboard harbours more germs that the average toilet?”
Oh we are so very average.
If anyone needs to brush up on their "feminist principles," you may wish to nip along to listen to this very interesting and highly entertaining "debate." It's slow to start but worth the wait. I had to pause it a zillion times as I am unable to remain static for 40 minutes near my computer, despite evidence to the contrary.
3 hours ago
5 comments:
the computer is for looking up recipes ;)
"Oh we are so very average."
From one "average" mom to another, I love this!
I think your mistake there is claiming the kitchen as "your" place. I could think of a million other places I'd rather be!
You can have my kitchen and I'll take yours if you drop me off in Cornwall to find Doctor Who;)
I'd love a space that was just all mine. I hear you on the assorted clutter and rubbish that furnishes all surfaces in the kitchen. Grrr I wish I could wave a wand and disappear it all.
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