Domesticity

Confession:

I've never made muffins before.

Or a cake.

Not even from a packet.

I've never felt the need to. If I cook a dozen or so muffins, who is going to eat them? Me? But I only fucking wanted one. By the time you've hauled about and cooked the things, the craving is well over anyway. So, better off not eating them in the first place.

I had a girlfriend a while back who would conveniently do all that for me. She was the dessert queen. I've never been much of a dessert fan, but occasionally get that little craving for a nice ice-cream/cake/pastry creation in the late hours of the evening. Look in the fridge, and there'd be nothing there. But she could make it appear out of thin air. And the best thing was that you didn't really have to ask her to do it. I had her worked out. So did our flatmates. All you had to do get a nice fresh dessert brought out to you, without even lifting your arse an inch away from your precious lounge space, was mention the word to her. It would start a little craving time bomb in her head that she couldn't ignore, and off she'd go and create some taste sensation out of a can of peaches and a bit of pastry. When she left the scene, I stopped with the desserts altogether.

But just every now and then, a twinkle of domesticity appears in my mind.

This afternoon, for the first time ever, armed with a (shameful) packet mix, I hunted around for a muffin tin. And the results were pleasing. I still only really want one muffin out of the dozen that popped out, but what the hey. I could get used to the baking side of life.

Every now and then.