My daughters profess to love me very much. Husband too. Too much. Not sure whether that’s a good thing or not. They have no qualms, no filter about telling it as it is.
A month or so ago, husband had had a meeting with girls on helping mum to eat healthy, on reducing frequency of pasta and pizza meals. They had also arrived at a consensus to dispose of the condensed milk, MY condensed milk, in the fridge.
On said day, I had had a good lunch, then had to go out with the girls on some errands. One daughter decided to have an iced mocha milkshake, and I needed a sugar fix so I got myself a soft serve ice cream.
My girls proceeded to grill me on the probabilities of “contracting” diabetes from that beckoning swirl of heaven. Did I not like staying healthy? Did I want to lose sensation in my fingers and toes? Did I not want healthy limbs and heart?
Anyway, we came to a compromise. If I were to have this ice cream, I would have to forego my evening tea. (Usually made with 2 teaspoons of condensed milk). I reminded them of their recent heartless behaviour with regards to the condensed milk incident. They relented, I had my ice cream, and 3 hours later, I also had a lovely hot cuppa tea. With evaporated milk and coconut sugar, however. (They were ensconced in their respective rooms).
A month later, here I am, at a friend’s home for dinner. Yummy. All caution thrown to the wind. Here I am in a simple white and red checked silk Saree, with a red, gold pallu, looking forward to the beautiful spread.
Bavani’s Happy Place 