Chapter Twenty-Four
The Spice Rack: Part Two
A spice rack in Bangladesh is unheard of.
I arrived home from work that night to the sort of a conversation any sane person would run a mile from. The Bag Lady and Betty had spent the night with Mavis in my kitchen. I dumped the carry-out on the table, pulled a bottle of wine out, and waved it at the girls.
They looked up with a “thank God you’re here and with wine” sigh.
Mavis didn’t even notice I had arrived. She had been at the sherry, and although the Bag Lady had offered coffee, tea, and toast, Mavis had refused all – draining my sherry supply was all she was interested in.
“He said, ‘what about the spice rack? Who was I thinking of when I made that, the postman?’ ‘Didn’t we make it,’ I said, then he made an ‘if you call watching help
