When Beloved and I cook together and find something huge and complicated, usually with 9 courses of fiddly feasting, with enough food to feed a regiment and people within 3 counties stacking up sand bags and checking the fire extinguishers.
Because it is fun and we both get off from work early (well, officially I don't. But the whole legal profession shuts down in this city on Friday afternoon. You want a quick legal decision? Schedule Friday afternoon - guilty, not guilty - we'll flip a coin, damn it. We wanna go home!). And if we drink all the "cooking wine" (and yes, we do need 4 bottles of wine to cook with. And the cider. And the spirits. And definitely the ale. Yes yes we do) and it doesn't matter if it all goes wrong and we don't end up eating until 11:00 and if worst comes to worst the takeaways are open late.
And we have the fire brigade on speed dial (see? fully prepared). It also leaves us all Saturday to
So all was going swimmingly, there had been NO FIRES AT ALL!! (shock!) when I spotted it. A cup. By the kettle.
It had tea in it.
Beloved had a cup of tea and HAD NOT MADE ME ONE!
Beloved made some noises about it having been made before I got home (which means... gather yourselves dear people for the news is traumatic - that he has LET IT GET COLD. He has WASTED TEA! A thousand British ancestors scream in outrage. Well, tut in an irritated fashion in outrage. Possibly with an exclaimed "well I never!")
So Beloved stands accused of the dual crimes of a) making a hot beverage without making me one and b) allowing said beverage to go cold - with the most severe aggravating factor of it being tea.
Naturally, I have declared war. As is fitting and reasonable.
So I has plottin' to do