Gramma has a 10-year catering contract

I was on my coffee break when the brat phoned. "Mamma, I ate up 11 cutlets and didn't give Gramma a single one!" he announced with mischievous glee.

Whoa! Eleven cutlets? I know the size of the cutlets (patties) my mother makes so my brain blew a fuse somewhere. "And I also had roti and ..... and curds too." he rattled off.

Okay...*breathe deeply, breathe deeply*

"You can move?" I asked him.

"I can now," he replied happily and handed the phone to my mother.

"I didn't want to disturb you at work but I was relieved he's talking and moving again," she said.
Turns out she'd set aside a few of those scrumptious cutlets for his dinner but he managed to eat those up as well and then...well...could barely move. So he sat back on the couch, propped up by two pillows. For a good ten minutes. Then he decided he had to let someone know. So he called me.

Reminded us of the time he was really young and we tried giving him formula because I wasn't well. He gulped it all down and then went very still, with a rather lost look on this face. We waited five minutes and then got worried. Finally, Mum propped him up a bit and he burped - louder than I've ever heard him burp. And then he began moving again. I can never forget that. Should have put it into my Childhood Scenes posts.

Incidentally, he's handed my mother a 10-year contract for his school lunches because he adores her cooking (who doesn't). He actually wanted it right through college, but my mother said one step at a time. According to the offspring, a 10-year contract is one step. I'm allowed to pack his lunch bag 'once in a while.' Probably because that's as often as he likes my cooking. Sigh!

Photo: Freerangestock.com