There are things we do that we never thought we'd do. I never thought I'd go on a camping trip, being a slob who likes to lie by the pool sipping from a drink with a paper umbrella in it, but at 23 years of age underwent a bracing trek through the Himalayan mountains of Nepal. As a young adult, I wouldn't do a thing for anybody and cared mainly for myself, but in the past couple of years I attained a qualification as an Assistant in Nursing.
Tonight, I did something I swore I'd never do. I posted to social media a photograph of something I cooked. Usually, I scroll by people's food shots (unless they look particularly tasty and give them a 'like'). There are some people on whose statuses I was sorely tempted to post: 'Nobody gives a shit!', particularly someone who posted nothing but photos of her food. This person has recently blocked me, and I wish I could contact to her inform her that, like her relentless photographs of food, in relation to this blocking I also just don't give a shit. Paradoxically, contacting someone to tell them you don't give a shit would indicate that in a tiny way, you just might. I'm enjoying not having my news feed clogged ad nauseum with pictures of the nachos her kids have prepared. I was a bit like that with someone who has apparently unfriended me, this someone labouring under the misapprehension that continuous selfies of her in a nightdress would hold everybody in spellbound thrall. It didn't. It bored the living snot out of all and sundry. And it wasn't even a sexy nightie. It was some frumpy thing with ruffles around the shoulder.
But tonight, I did it. I joined the legion of folk who post pictures of their food. Only because I was proud of the vegetarian deep fried spring rolls I prepared. I enjoyed them. Mr Bingells enjoyed them. Mister Thirteen and Master Ten enjoyed them. They were deemed a great success, unlike the gluggy monstrosities I prepared last week. I learned my lesson, and purchased proper spring roll pastry, instead of using rice paper. Rice paper spring rolls are utterly delish when cold. I do mighty fine, and mighty sought after ones. I even cook up an accompanying sweet chilli and cucumber sauce, with is positively orgasmic for the taste buds. But I must confess, when I attempted to deep fry my rice paper spring rolls last week, the wrappers swelled and expanded, leaving much air between wrapper and filling, and had all the appeal of chowing down on dogshit-au-gratin.
After the abysmal looking spring rolls of last week, and my abject disappointment, I was so thrilled to have cooked some that not only looked appetising but actually tasted just as good as they looked, I succumbed to the temptation of photographing them and sharing them to social media. This temptation is as alluring as a woman dangling a piece of forbidden fruit in front of a man. It drew me in with its tractor beam, and I took a photo on my iPad, and fired it off to Facebook. But don't worry, it's not my intention to make a habit of doing this. Unless I construct another diving looking Nicoise salad, like I occasionally do.
Should I feel a twinge of guilt over this?
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