I’ve been trying to save a little money lately. It turns out that I’m not as good at that as I could be. Instead of, say, moving somewhere cheaper or forgoing the bus and walking everywhere, I’ve tried to just buy less food.
Yeah, I know. As someone who is aware (painfully aware, sometimes) of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, even I know this makes no sense. Deciding whether to put an extra ingredient into my stir fry or save it for the next meal has become a matter of monumental importance.
These are the words of a lunatic.
Mum has recently started to notice my haphazard meal plans and rapidly emptying cupboards. Mothers do. Nothing gets past that woman. She buys things for Christmas that I haven’t even mentioned in conversation since January. She’s like a hawk with lipstick.
She offered to send me a small care package of ‘essentials’ to keep me going. Great, I thought. What a lovely mother I have, I thought. Stock me up with huge bags of pasta and rice and I’ll be all set for another three months.
The parcel arrived. It contained, amongst a few other things: kiwi and lime cider, white chocolate buttons, milk chocolate buttons, a party cake (serves 16), and salmon en croute with baby potatoes in herb butter.
Thing is, she’s spot on. Those are the essentials if ever I saw them. I suspect having unusual priorities in life might run in the family.
