I’m Trying To Be A Good Host

I pissed around all morning, reading the Lost Gay Melbourne page on Facebook. It was amazing how addictive it was, I couldn't look away. So many photos, so many faces. I wondered if I should post some old photos of my own, as I have consistently taken photos over the years. But, I didn't post any photos.

Jane has come to stay for the week, which is always nice. She is doing some study, finishing some of the subjects of her qualification in Kinesiology. She has taken a week off work to get back into it.

I made lasagne for dinner. It was always one of my favourite things to cook, not that I have made it lately. meat sauce. Cheese sauce, bang it in the oven. My mum taught me all the intricacies of sauces and cooking as a teenager 14 to 16 years of age. I loved to cook on the weekends with her. Then, I discovered the mind numbing reality of nightly meals when I moved out of home, which proved to be one of the great disappointments in life... and I stopped cooking. 

I am trying to be a good host, you know, give them clean sheets and cook for them too. I give them clean sheets, don't you worry about that, but I don't usually cook for my guests. And since I can cook, I decided that I should change my ways and rustle up some dinner. So, I made lasagne... toe dipped back in the cooking water. That's what people do, isn't it? Normal people? Sam wanted to know where the salad was. Oops, I could have done that.

There has always been a part of me that felt sad about aspiring to be "normal," but in this instance, I felt no shame. And as my old queen neighbour Gordon would say, the lasagne was a triumph. Ha ha, normal, I joke. I'll be wanting to get married next.