That's Not Bulgarian Feta

Sam, and I, ate Malaysian in Elizabeth Street for lunch, where fat boy used to work. There is no leftover dinner lunchbox, from last night, which I always carry into the city. Tell me why I do that again?

“My bag is heavier, your bag is lighter, don’t be a baby.”

It is my last day at (name of company), another job over. The job I felt the most nervous at the beginning of which. I'm not sure why? See, it just goes to show you should never take the summer off. Or something. 

Oh well, next!

Mark and Luke arrived this afternoon. Mark's dad made it to 90 before death, they are down for the big party. Sam and I strolled home down La Trobe Street, through the gardens, to home. It is such a joy not to have to battle the peak hour traffic. Mark and Luke got home just before we did, despite having a midday flight. Who has ever left Sydney on time? Oh, except they didn't come from Sydney, of course. Has anyone ever had a Jetstar plane leave on time. I have, myself, but be that as it may, it isn't the story of my friends.

My favourite car

We ate chicken schnitzel, Luke ate chicken breast. I swear that boy never eats fat. We had to go to the supermarket anyway, to get the other schnitzel, of course, we had just the two. Buddy get's a walk. You can almost see the grin on his face as he bulldozers his way along the footpath.

I was going to make dinner, just to set good-host-101 in motion from the outset. I'm notoriously crap at having gusts to stay, I just wanted some brownie points straight up.  

Luke takes over the cooking, silently, without uttering a word.  The advantage of a chef… ex-boyfriend… good friend. I’m not sure exactly what his title is? All round nice boy. He questions the validity of the Bulgarian Feta?

“That is low fat Australian feta,” Luke says.

"But, I bought Bulgarian." If it is on the note, then that is what I buy. I never via from shopping instructions. Oh no, that would lead to all sorts of problems.

Luke looks at me as though I have been cheap again and he has caught me out.

I wanted to wail, but I did! Suddenly, I felt like a 5 year old.

He held his gaze on me, with the suspect feta in his hand, chewing something distasteful.

Luke makes a sumptuous dinner, just with the ingredients I had bought and with some from the cupboard. It is a skill, I would have never presented so nicely. Luke is almost contemptuous when I even suggest that I cook. Generally, he looks at me and laughs, out loud.