In our house you can imagine, if something is yours, truly yours, whether, edible, inanimate, dirty, clean, plastic or diamond, and especially if it’s printed on rag paper, you need to guard it with your life. You can pull out one of the drug smugglers tricks and hide it in your underwear or other places, but chances are, just like bomb sniffing dogs, someone will find it and use it.
Every morning, I make hot tea with lemon. I use the lemons later on for my humonogo water jug. Twice a week, I cut up a few lemons and put them in a baggie because I hate slicing, cutting and chopping anything. Odd for a cook, but I love my Cuisinart. I keep a citrus based surplus in my fridge in a little baggie hidden in the crisper. One morning I did this, made my water, and hid the lemons.
And there it was, as sure as Restallyn in Kim Kardashian’s lips, the lemons vanished. And, I was pissed. Who exactly I was pissed at, I don’t quite know, but it could be any of those interlopers who freeload in my house. Was it Vale using them for a baking sculpture or to fill a lemon crepe? Was it Eva making lemon slime? Was it Federica baking a lemon layer cake? There were endless possibilities. “Who took my lemons??” They looked at me like I had aphasia and nothing was coming out.
That day, I went to pick up. Camilla walks out of the building and calmly asks me in this little whisper of a voice, “Mom, why did you give me a bag of lemons for snack?” I stopped for a second and I said, “I gave you what?” She answered “There was a plastic bag with lemons in my lunchbox.” Well, so much for multitasking. I had found my lemons, and there was a bag of pretzels in the crisper.
Camilla does like lemons though, and she thought the acidic surprise should continue. So, it was a win-win.