Pip and Pop Jones have class masses. The highlight for the children is to invite their parents and grandparents to the celebration and involve them in the rituals of holiness.
Um, yeah, no it’s not. I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that ‘the church part is okay, but the morning tea is so much better …’
In the tradition of Catholics throughout time, church is seen as the encore event to eating, drinking (no alcohol with the school masses though) and parties. I can’t say I disagreed with Pip and Pop on this matter, but like any good parent, I threw them my disappointed, reproving look. (It’s one of those looks involving a little frown, a shake of the head, and a downward glance). You know the type.
It’s customary for the adult participants to ‘bring a plate’. Bring a plate is an expression we often use and joke about down here and I wonder if it’s a worldwide thing. Historically, ladies would bring a plate to a function, gentlemen would bring a bottle. I suspect that was because women were always in the kitchen with plates and men were not? Or perhaps men of olden times wouldn’t know where plates were kept? Or was it that women didn’t want to be seen carrying a bottle?
Whatever the situation, the party following the class mass requires the family member, regardless of gender, to bring a plate.
A couple of hours ago, I decided to make this Rocky Road Hedgehog Divine Looking Thing. It’s easy, no cooking involved, will slice up for an entire class of kids and has NO nuts. I started the process while listening to a friend rant on the phone. I melted the chocolate, butter, icing sugar, added eggs. When it got to the stirring part, I asked my Ms McRant mate to STFU, which she did. She’s great like that ; )
So, I had the warmed chocolate mixture ready, into which I had to add the coconut, marshmallows, broken bikkies, and just stir them all together and watch them squish and ooooooze and make yummy lovely chocolatey goo.
Finishing the task pretty quickly and spreading the mixture into the prepared tin, I noticed that the wooden spoon had the remnants of melted chocolate and coconut veneered onto front and back, desperately needing a wash. Instead, I placed the entire head of ye olde wooden spoon into my gob and enthusiastically, although ever so gently, started licking.
Remembering I had a couple more grocery items in the shopping trolley on the front deck, I wandered out there, gloriously oblivious to everything else but what was satisfying me orally. The front deck is glass in, and when a drop of sun hits, it warms the area, giving it a hazy, meditative glow of warmth. Unbeknownst to me, time flittered by, I hadn’t yet got the stuff out of the trolley, nor had I done anything but stand on the decking, suckling on the wood of the spoon.
Next thing I knew, a stranger was standing facing me, the outer glass door between! In my early afternoon lethargy/daze/senior moment/chocolate-wooden spoon orgasm, I must have closed my eyes and lingered, simply living in a culinary utopia that only involved a wooden spoon, some warm melted chocolate and ME. Now, suddenly, there was a younger man looking at me as though he would snatch at my wooden spoon if I didn’t move to open the door.
I hesitated. Then he smiled, knowingly, and my genetically-inherited temper yearned to slap that indolent look off his face. I opened the door, was curt and direct, it was something about the gas company, saving money, ‘what supplier are you currently using …’
Oh, for cutter’s sake, I don’t need a supplier! I have a wooden spoon, melted chocolate and a patch of warmth on my front deck to call my own. Get the hell outta here, bitch!
Tis what I wanted to say, but I regained my decorum and pretended I hadn’t been caught tonguing a utensil with my eyes closed in the middle of the day.
As the company representative walked away (and I’m sure he was smirking into his clipboard) I moved back towards the glass door that opens on to our front deck. The light gave me enough of a chance to see that not only was I lathing my tongue against the wooden spoon in ecstasy while he stood there, I was also wearing the remnants of coconuty chocolate delight around my mouth.
Hail, the woman with a moustache. I just hope I hadn’t moaned out loud!