“Hey, forgot to tell you,” I greet Bakerman absentmindedly that morning. The look on my face portrays the tumult of my inner workings. “My mother gave me an envelope with all my pictures. She doesn’t want my photos anymore. Nor those of my kids. I’m not sure she realizes the gesture.”

Bakerman nods at me concerned as he hands me my parcels of fresh bread and sweet buns. He then heads back to his van to continue his daily delivery round, without a single word. I am both hurt and relieved at his silence. On the one hand, I know I am nagging. I know that my endless torment and negativity is not to be shared, that I would be better off keeping it to myself. But I can’t. I need to confide in somebody. Tell them it’s not all smiles and peachy in my world.

But relieved, oh yes definitely relieved. Bakerman, just like all other people I know don’t want to hear about what’s going on in my life. They don’t want to get involved. They want to continue in the illusion that we’re all living a wonderful life. No time for failures, set-backs of ill feelings. Keep it all to yourself. Don’t let anybody know. No response means I don’t have to talk about it and I too can continue pretending that nothing is wrong. Bottle up the pain. Live the anxiety in the midnight hours all by myself.

I can immediately think of several distractions to bring me back to my happy place:

  • Applying some skin perfecting miracle oil from my new favourite supplier, Cime-Skincare. If I could time travel back, this would be my absolute must-have for every bad hair day.
  • Put on one of my new chic satin blouses by Caroline Biss. You see, satin has evolved way past the slinky nighties my mother would wear only when visiting her parents. And it’s unlikely to shed its sexy-time roots entirely anytime soon. This actually works wonders on my mood.
  • Cuddles with my little darlings. Who doesn’t love a cuddle? Whether as a moment of caring embrace or a few minutes of parent-child bonding that even the snarliest teenager looks forward to, a cuddle is an easy, powerful way to connect with anyone you care for.

I position myself at the head of the kitchen table with my three darlings in tow. I crack into a jar of honey and quickly rationalize three delicious things to do with that too.

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.

3 Replies to “Honey, please!”

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