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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required It happened on an ordinary afternoon. In the quiet kitchen I was busy like a masterchef, moving unnoticed with self-poised dexterity. The intent was to cook a perfect silky tomato soup. I reached for the salt, instead grabbed the sugar jar, sprinkled a generous amount into the saucepan. The smell changed instantly, sweet and wrong. I grimaced, added more spices to mend the mistake. She walked in then when I was at a crucial stage, for the recipe required a vigorous whipping, I was practically dancing with the saucepan, holding a large spoon full of half-cooked soup. As she went past me to reach the cabinet I spun around to ask her to taste if the salt is ok, ended up holding the spilling spoon over her white skirt. The only sound I then heard was the soup hitting her feet. I didn't say excuse me or I’m sorry, instead, thrust the spoon toward her mouth, murmured, tell me if it's too garlicky and salty. I could still make the tangy taste right. She ducked under my arm and silently walked out, leaving me with the dripping spoon. I wondered if I should hand over the kitchen solely to my wife, for I felt that was not my place. Note : I am not an accomplished cook, but I often try to do some culinary experiments. I chose this moment and the situation because these were quite embarrassing and awkward for me, for my wife used to tell me to not mess around in the kitchen. The hardest line to write was “ I didn't say excuse me or I’m sorry”, because at that upsetting moment I wanted to divert her attention, doing and saying something else, but actually I wanted to say sorry. From the first draft I removed the last two lines of the last stanza where I said I should spend more time in the kitchen to be an efficient cook, but replaced them with the two lines as shown, a realization that I think was pragmatic at that time.
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