Friday on fire

5 minutes pass.

Slamming and forcing the utensils to fit, like trying to cram a square into a circle. The sighs are becoming more frequent. A grunt of frustration, shuffling of hairy defeated feet.

Pause.

Restarting the search, willing that magic aha! moment. Trying again, it steps back and assesses the options. Plug in, plug out. Turn upside down, shake. Stare.

7 minutes.

Pause.

Stepping back, assessing the situation from a wider angle. One last look in all corners previously checked. A low grumble is beginning, body language changing quicker than a moody sky.

A snarl is forming, lips peeling back in frustration, showing shiny straight teeth. Imagine a TV show on mute. The protagonist has stepped on a piece of lego in the dark and now screams in pain. This is what I’m witnessing. A silent movie of pain.

This is not an ape desperate to open a coconut on a deserted island.

No. Huddled over bowl, grater chafing cauliflower, wounded boyfriend manually turns cauliflower into rice.

Food blender on the blink, boyfriend on the brink.

I dare to jibe: ‘You could have grated the whole thing by now’

He doesn’t turn to face me, but I feel his silent glare.

I smile internally, that’ll teach him for depriving us of carbs.