I went to someone’s leaving party on Saturday at a social club. It was nice to be invited, since my husband works with the host, not me.
But the buffet was a problem. There were yummy looking croquets, which I couldn’t eat, since they were fried. Ditto the little tuna pastries. I couldn’t eat the cheese and anchovy sandwiches either. I made a beeline for the smoked salmon sandwiches – I love smoked salmon – only to find that they had cream cheese underneath, which is another no-no. The Spanish omelette looked really good, but I’m not allowed egg yolks, so I couldn’t eat the lovely quiche either. The pork sandwiches would have been ok without the fried onions in them, and the octopus salad would have been ok without the raw peppers.
So I ate beef sandwiches. And they were nice enough beef sandwiches, but I’d have enjoyed them a lot more without all the other stuff under my nose.
The bar had beer, wine, spirits and fizzy pop, so I went out and got a bottle of water.
All of which was rather frustrating. I managed not to whinge while I was there, but when I got home and had to produce food, the only easy thing was more eggs.
That did it. I moaned to my son, “Lord, I’m sick of this diet. All I want is a cheese omelette. Is that so much to ask?”
He said, “You can have an omelette Mum. You just can’t eat it, that’s all.”
