Ting!
It’s ready. My meal is hot. By the smell and the appearance, and although I don’t cook any more now than before (implied, when I was a girl), I recognize a shepherd’s pie. I love it, it’s one of my favourite dishes.
This is a treat. After only a few bites, I find myself licking the box so as not to miss a crumb. In the process, I text my mother to congratulate her: Mom, your mince is a delight!
Her response wasn’t long in coming, she telephoned me.
“Hello! You rarely send me a message to compliment me.”
“Ah...”
“But tell me, how come you tell me about my food at three o’clock?”
“I didn’t go to work, I didn’t feel well today.”
“What? And you called the doctor? You…”
“Don’t panic, I’m already better.”
“No, I don’t agree. I’ll call the family doctor and make an appointment for
