I had an all day workshop at work recently so I decided to make the most of it and extend the proceedings into the evening. Since the length of the workshop meant I needed to change our usual routine anyway and get my husband to fetch our child from child care. I figured I may as well take the opportunity to socialise after work with my new colleagues. And to give my husband the rare pleasure of a solo evening of collecting our son after a long day, cooking dinner for him and getting him to bed. A special treat for him you might say.
In a way that only my husband can, he managed to turn a potentially difficult night in into a fun boys night out. They went to
my husband’s their favourite Indian restaurant and ate like kings. Which entails eating enough naan bread to sink a small ship and enough rice to shower it in rice confetti afterwards to celebrate.
Then on the way home my husband crashed the car into the gate.
The next morning I asked my son what he had for dinner.
“I had some rice.” he said thoughtfully. “I like rice.”
“Chicken.” he told me. “Blue Chicken.”
That’s red chicken to the uninitiated or butter chicken to the connosieur. He hasn’t really got his colours all sorted out just yet. Although it did remind me of a time I made a chicken stew in the slow cooker with purple carrots. Perhaps I scared him for life. He was the only member of the family that didn’t really know that chicken isn’t meant to be purple and so ate all his dinner without complaints.
*Image my purple chicken stew.