I have an excellent tale for you this evening. It has all the ingredients essential for Slack Tea Thursday. There is drama. There is a twist and there is slackness. I have decided to give you a two-fer and tell it from two different perspectives and you can decide which is the more amusing re-telling of this evening's tea events.
Mrs. P's Slack Tea Thursday story
Mr. P awoke this morning swearing he was suffering from bubonic plague. Being an ex nurse I am always decidedly unsympathetic when people make such declarations, because I have nursed people through worse things than bubonic plague. As far as I am concerned if you have enough breath to speak and your head is still attached, you're alright Jack. I told Mr. P it was much more likely to be a 24 hour virus because his tongue and face were not yet black, swollen and gross and I lithely skipped off to work after throwing a box of tissues in his general direction and issuing stern instructions not to chuck in my side of the bed. I must confess I did have a shower this morning in Dettol hand wash and hoped Mr. P would be considerate enough to die in bed if he was of a mind to pop off this mortal coil since there is no way I could move him if he keeled over on the floor in my absence. But such thoughts and actions I did keep to myself not being completely lacking in social niceties.
At some point Mr. P dragged himself from his sick bed and called me at work to croak "It's your slack tea thingy tonight isn't it- is it breaking the rules if I make you something for dinner?". "Go for it " I said figuring that if I'm not cooking it - that's still pretty slack while worrying also a little about his germy bits touching my food. But, who am I to turn down a free meal with the added bonus of potential scarlet fever or Ebola chucked in ? I figured I could always feed whatever he made surreptitiously to the dogs under the table or use a nice disinfectant gravy to kill any germified bits of the meal.
So home I trot after a long day at the salt mines. (If you're new here I don't actually work in a salt mine that was a figure of speech, but I do trot because I'm one of those annoying high energy people) Mr. P had this going in the crock pot (which incidentally would have yielded the added bonus of a long cooking time to kill any germs that fell in during preparation)
Mr. P doesn't do a lot of cooking unless it involves blackening dead carcasses on the barbecue ( he calls it creole - I call it murder) - so he didn't realise that this would need about 6 hours to cook. It is called a slow cooker for a reason. So when I skipped home tonight after an awesomely fabulous day of counting salt grains expecting Lobster Thermidore and a Croquembouche and saw this casserole I said sweetly to Mr. P "Darling. Love. light of my life what time did you put this on today?" and he said 2.30pm, I said "That won't be ready until about 9.00pm tonight, sweetie, angel, pudding pie". And he scoffed at me !
Now you can do a lot of things to a Pyjama Girl but scoffing at my wisdom and knowledge isn't advisable if you want to live to breathe another day. But being wise and knowing it is sometimes better to keep one's own counsel , and because I also did not wish to look like an ungrateful cow, I said nothing and just kept reading my emails, planning a vegemite and toast raid later.
30 minutes later I received my just reward when Mr. P came to me and sheepishly said "I'll just go down to the shop and buy you something for dinner" after surreptitiously poking the potatoes and finding they had the consistency of marbles.
So, ultimately I had a 1/4 chicken and chip pack with gravy for tea, which did not fuss me in the slightest.
And I figure that's still slack because I didn't have to move my ever diminishing arse from the computer chair (have I mentioned I have lost 15 pounds since January? )
And Mr. P being the kind , thoughtful and generous husband that he is , purchased dessert for me as well... Mint Lindt. It's no less than I deserve. And if I start to get fat again, I don't have to accept personal responsibility, I can just blame Mr. P.
Mr. P's Slack Tea Thursday Tale
Woke up feeling crap. Cooked Mrs. P dinner. Screwed it up. Bought takeaway as penance and chocolate to suck up. The end.