It’s a quote from a 50s cinderella-type movie called The Glass Slipper. It had a really pretty girl with short hair and a French accent. Also, apparently, there was lots of singing, though I can’t remember any of the songs. It’s quite possible that I’m getting sanguine in my old age, because I keyed in the title, went a-googling to find a picture of the pretty girl, and now I can’t remember why I wanted this title.

Whenever I tell people that I hate cooking, they assume it’s because I’m really bad at it. And while I have to admit that I’ve had some kitchen mishaps, I’m actually fairly good in the kitchen. I just don’t want to do it every day, and if I could, I’d live on take-away.

That said, I’ve noticed a very strange thing. Whenever I’m stressed, I head to the kitchen. It might be because I love comfort food. It might be because banging pots and chopping things is therapeutic. Or it might be because deep down on my hidden side, I actually enjoy cooking.*shudder*

I remember that at some point in high school, I considered being a chef, and I do love to watch cooking shows. But when I get home after a long day at work, I’m thinking microwave, not stove. Still, I love good food, and there’s this one guy in the office who always has lots of it. I like to make random trips to his desk just to sneak into his lunch box. He has everything from roast marinated chicken to banana cake, and I’m drooling just thinking about it.

Last week, I grabbed what looked like a toasted sandwich and ended up begging him for the recipe. He seemed to think it was a pretty basic thing. But seriosuly, who puts honey on french toast? You could lock me in a room for twenty-nine years and I wouldn’t think to put honey in frenchtoast. He had some cinammon in there as well, and I promised to try it when I got home.

So this lazy Sunday afternoon, when I was feeling tense because the baby was crying and the power was out, we took a stroll for some eggs, a jar of honey, and a bottle of cinammon powder. We banged the pots and pans and made half a loaf of frenchtoast. Can you say heavenly? How do people come up with these things? I saw another lady out honey in rice – why don’t they write stuff like this in cookbooks?

The moral of the story is that short bobbed hair is really pretty, that I need to come up with creative and tasty ways to bang my pans, and that if a certain workmate’s lunchbox ever disappears …