Wait a minute

I take the hot container out of the microwave and place it on the kitchen table which is covered by a colourful tablecloth. This is the family table, adorned by plastic plates and bibs and Grown Up Plates and letters for the gymnastics team. This, old piece of wood, is pockmarked with ink stains, scratches, discolourations and the general symptoms of being a piece of furniture near children. I start to sit down. She takes a sharp breath. My bottom hovers in mid-air. She says,

No no, don't put hot stuff on the kitchen table. It ruins the surface!  

and rushes to move the offending piece of crockery.


My apologies, madam.