Being taken care of
Please pardon the hanging preposition or whatever that is called...
I have (Editor's note: this actually happened on the night of Halloween 2007. It is now the new year. But I still want to post about what happened that night)
Starting over: This past weekend I was unspeakably terribly powerfully painfully drunk. I had the world's worst hangover, both during the time that I was drunk and afterwards. I had strange conversations with taxi drivers, lost my friends and managed to leave my cell phone with a friend, ensuing in some weird tomfoolery in which she called my mother at 3 in the morning wondering where I was.
Aside from all my stupidity, the point of this post is to talk about being taken care of. The best part of being taken care of (that you appreciate the day after the hangover, because the day of the hangover, all you can think about is how sick you feel) is just that- you are being taken care of. You don't have to think about anything, worry about how to eat, what to make, putting food into your mouth because that's done for you.
Who did it for me? Rohit. He was an absolute peach (where did that come from? because my favorite fruit is watermelon). He set me straight, among other things, but mostly, the next day, he made me chicken noodle soup. From scratch. He cooked the pasta (ringlets of fusilli), prepared the chicken, made broth/stock from scratch, preserving the celery, carrots and thyme residue...and lovingly ladled big generous bowls of it for me, accompanied by slices of fresh baguette.
Now, I don't wish how I felt upon my worst enemy. But it sure felt good being taken care of with so much love and affection. And there is nothing like chicken soup for the hungover soul.
I have (Editor's note: this actually happened on the night of Halloween 2007. It is now the new year. But I still want to post about what happened that night)
Starting over: This past weekend I was unspeakably terribly powerfully painfully drunk. I had the world's worst hangover, both during the time that I was drunk and afterwards. I had strange conversations with taxi drivers, lost my friends and managed to leave my cell phone with a friend, ensuing in some weird tomfoolery in which she called my mother at 3 in the morning wondering where I was.
Aside from all my stupidity, the point of this post is to talk about being taken care of. The best part of being taken care of (that you appreciate the day after the hangover, because the day of the hangover, all you can think about is how sick you feel) is just that- you are being taken care of. You don't have to think about anything, worry about how to eat, what to make, putting food into your mouth because that's done for you.
Who did it for me? Rohit. He was an absolute peach (where did that come from? because my favorite fruit is watermelon). He set me straight, among other things, but mostly, the next day, he made me chicken noodle soup. From scratch. He cooked the pasta (ringlets of fusilli), prepared the chicken, made broth/stock from scratch, preserving the celery, carrots and thyme residue...and lovingly ladled big generous bowls of it for me, accompanied by slices of fresh baguette.
Now, I don't wish how I felt upon my worst enemy. But it sure felt good being taken care of with so much love and affection. And there is nothing like chicken soup for the hungover soul.
posted by Fat Sister | 3:19 PM
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