My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding - By Katya Starkey Page 0,78
get seen by a doctor. And not just any doctor, an emergency doctor. When we enter the small Malvern hospital thirty minutes later, my fiancé is adamant with the medical staff too. He’s ranting and raving all over the place that I need to be put on an antibiotic drip. He’s also being quite loud about the fact that I’ve just had my face plastered full of cow shit, to the amusement of all the patients in the waiting area.
“Cal,” I whisper sheepishly. I’m about to ask him to please calm himself, but the look of thunder on his face suggests that I’m the one who should keep my mouth shut at this point.
I’m starting to get that hero-worship feeling from earlier. My fiancé truly must be worried about my health. Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my decision to absolutely never cook for him again. Looking back I suppose I could find the shit-face incident funny, but at the moment it’s way too soon for that.
Eventually I do get seen by a doctor, alone. Callum isn’t allowed to join me as I’m examined.
“I don’t need an antibiotic drip, honey.” I show my fiancé a pack of medication in the waiting room after I’m finished with the doctor. “But they did give me these just in case.”
“Hooray! Antibiotics in pill form.” Callum jumps up from his seat and kisses me full on the mouth. He comes away smacking his lips. “That’s not half bad.”
“What’s not?”
“Imperial Leather bar soap could catch on as a new mouth-wash flavour.”
I shake my head and grin at the same time. “You’re either very brave or very stupid, mister Stephenson.” How daring of him to crack wise so soon.
“Brave?” He asks sheepishly.
I nod slowly.
“Hooray again!”
“You’re not entirely in the clear though.” I’m about to retort with a joke of my own that will keep up this light-hearted mood, but suddenly I just can’t find the energy.
I collapse into my fiancé’s arms.
Callum takes me home and helps me straight into bed. He tells me to rest while he pops out to bring back dinner.
“Hey babe, wake up. I made you a potato.”
Sitting up, I feel like I hardly slept a wink before my fiancé returned. “You made me a potato?” I have to ask him this dubiously. Perhaps I should tell him that I’ve already lifted the ban on cooking for him in future. I’m wondering if this sudden burst of culinary overload from my fiancé is his way of apologizing.
“I did.”
“Does that mean you baked me a potato?”
Callum puts his hands behind his back. “Just come to the kitchen. There are other ways to make a potato, you know.”
Wiping sleep from my eyes, I yawn and look incredulously up at him. “There are indeed other ways, and which of them did you use?”
“Oh, just come on downstairs and try it.”
“No, I’d prefer to know how it was made.”
Callum starts pacing the carpeted floor and I feel that a ludicrous rant from him is in order. I find I’m not wrong when he starts speaking. “Probably a farmer put a seed in the ground… I mean, I guess that’s how potatoes are made. They are vegetables, right? Is there such a thing as potato seed?”
I’m getting a little irritated now. Does my dear and darling fiancé not recall the literal shittiness I’ve been through today? “I don’t care.” I demand. “What did you do to my food?”
“I prepared it, come with me and try a bite.”
“Did you scallop it?”
“No, I… how the hell does one scallop a potato anyway?”
“Did you mash it?”
“Huh uh.”
“Fry it?”
“French fry?”
“Sure.”
“Nope.”
“Any sort of frying?”
“No, madam.”
This is getting ridiculous. “Did you boil it?”
“Oh no, you know my rule, no boiling without pants.”
I’m tempted to smile at this point, but I hold back. “You weren’t wearing pants when you made my potato?”
“No, I was, I just like reminding you of my rule. It’s a fun rule isn’t it?”
I throw off the duvet. “I’m ordering pizza.” Picking up my phone off the bedside table, I start to dial.
“All right, okay, I’ll tell you.” Callum stops pacing. “But you have to promise me you’ll at least try it.”
I look at him as though he’s lost his mind. “I’m not making that promise. Hi, I’d like to order a large vegetarian…”
“I cooked it on the manifold of my car. I had to drive back and forth from town twice just now while you were sleeping.”
“Yeah, I’ll need that to be delivery,” I tell the pizza guy on