“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 704 (Tuesday) – a lady

There are times I’m glad I live alone. Many times. It can get lonely, but there is still a lot to be said for having no human housemates. I certainly don’t miss the way a former housemate would open all the kitchen cabinet doors while looking for something, leave them all open, and leave the house. The first time it happened, I arrived home and thought someone had broken in and we’d been ransacked. I love that I can eat what, when, and how I want, free of criticism that potato chips aren't a proper supper or whining that "we had that yesterday."

Lately, as the manners and decorum Mummu tried so hard to teach me continue to decline due to all the extra solitude of the past two years, the times of gratitude for solo living are more frequent. She was famous for delivering life lessons that began with, “A lady always …” or “A lady never …” which covered all aspects of life.  

For example, and in case you need to know what it was like being an impressionable kid a million years ago, a lady never chews with her mouth open, never talks with food in her mouth, never sits with her knees open, is never too loud, never makes the first move in a romance, et cetera.

Also, a lady always says “please” and “thank you,” always has clean fingernails, doesn't exhibit too much cleavage, always waits for the male to make the first move, and always serves the husband and the children first before eating her own meal.

Syrup puddle.

This morning had a solo-dining breakfast moment that would likely have made Mummu gasp and possibly faint. It started innocently enough. A puddle of 100% dark maple syrup was poured onto a plate. Two waffles were toasted and buttered and stacked neatly in the syrup puddle. More syrup was poured over the top waffle. 

Luckily, with no husband, children, or housemates, and all the waffles and syrup are mine. After the waffles were consumed using a highly specialized and sophisticated technique that requires using the fork to drive bits of waffle all around the plate for maximum syrup load, there was still a sizeable puddle on the plate. Because I live alone, hate waste, and can occasionally be impossibly immature, I stood over the sink and drank the puddle of warm syrup off the plate. It was like having some sort of maple shooter. 

Then I apologized to Mummu for the very unladylike and appalling behavior as I’m 100% sure that, whatever the circumstances, drinking syrup off a plate would definitely be on the “a lady never” list. In my defense, it was delicious.