He came home last night, kissed me and asked me what needed to be done.
In between the fritters being fried, the vegies being nuked, the long-forgotten fish fillets being rescued from the oven, the lamenting that the other fridge was not cold and then rejoicing at finding that there were two cold bottles of ginger beer in the kitchen, we asked each other,
‘What did you do today?’
I answered first.
‘You know, I’ve been busy all day, but I can’t really tell you what I’ve done. I feel like there’s nothing to show for it – oh, except for the quilt-block on the ironing board which I sewed during my lunch break.’
He laughed. ‘You know, I feel exactly the same. I know I was busy, but feel as if I didn’t achieve anything.’
We each grabbed the plates of dinner, the drinks and cutlery, took them outside and lit the mosquito-repellant candles. We looked at our plates, said ‘Thank you God’ that the food had miraculously appeared on clean plates…
without us having achieved anything for the day.