Man of the house is off to the dental surgeon today. Wish me luck. Yeah, I know he is the one getting the work done, but I am the one who will have to suffer through the days of moaning and moaning and whining and moaning….
I was very kind to him last night and did a roast with all the trimmings for dinner. He loves a roast. When I said that it was a treat as it would be the last time he would be chewing for a while and that his dinner tomorrow night would be pureed leftover roast in tiny bowls, one of meat, one of potato, one of pumpkin etc, he was distinctly unimpressed.
This is a man who believes dinner has not been served unless it involves knives and chunks of the recently dead. Soup served for the evening meal, no matter how hearty, is invariably followed by the comment ‘that was beautiful, whats for dinner?’, then a rummage through the cupboards and fridge for something ‘proper’ to eat.
In order to torture him I have cruelly stocked up the fridge with gum-soothing yoghurt and the food processor will be waiting. (Insert evil laugh here).