V, please forgive me. I just cannot resist writing this down. And I hope you are kept really busy managing your new household that you may not find time to sit still for a minute and start browsing the web and find this. Sorry, ya, but I don't ever want to forget this......
I remember you telling us how in your previous "life" you were always on the run. It's always apartment to car to office to meetings to airports to overseas trips to east malaysia to visit parents back to KL then more meetings and finally you collapse in a heap to recover. We liked it when you were trying to recover because in between romantic interludes with your then beloved, you loved to cook for us and we will troop to your apartment .
We would be greeted by the most delicious aroma in the world whenever you opened the door to welcome us, complete with an apron and a wooden spoon in hand, but not a hair out of place. Something would already be roasting, there's something broiling in a pot and in between you would regale us with some amusing stories, we would chip in and help you with the salads.
Dining at your place, no matter how laid back we felt, was always a serious affair. How the garlic and mushrooms must be in the right proportion so that when you wrapped and roasted it, the dish came out just perfect. And how the brinjals or eggplants needed to be sliced evenly so that the vegetable lasagne would look and taste faultless.
Dessert was always something classic. Your flair for everything Italian was obvious in the exquisite desserts you would treat us too. The Baci chocolates (how we would all compare notes on the messages we get in each one), the tiramisu and the panna cotta. Not to mention the Siennese Panforte if you happen to just come back from an Italian sojourn or if the love of your life had been visiting his family.
But the highlights of all the rare but "happening" get togethers have to be the stories we exchanged. On how good we have been. Or how bad we have been. Or even on how silly we have been.
One that I will never be able to forget has to be this, V. You sent your clothes to the Laundry and Drycleaners as you couldn't face a piece that hasn't been ironed well by a maid.
In your high flying job where time is of the essence, you were always in a rush, to skip the choc-a-bloc traffic jams, to meet the deadlines, to be spot on time at your meetings with the captains of industry.
One fine day, when you were about to step out of your apartment door, you noticed a crinkle on your slacks. A slight crinkle that had to be ironed and straightened out. Since you were running late and it was just a small crinkle, you plugged in the iron, switched it on and when the light indicator showed that it was at the setting you needed, you sat on the armchair and quickly run the iron onto the tiny crinkle on your slacks - while you were still wearing it! Of course at the same time you let fly all the swear words, in Sabahan, in Bahasa and naturally in Italian!
You proudly showed us the unique almost prmanent "iron mark" on your right thigh! As you were very fair, the shape of the iron looked like it had been traced onto your skin, and very "pink carrer" at that. How we rolled on the floor, instead of feeling sorry that it happened. We used up all the napkins to wipe our tears. Of laughter.
Oh V, how could you. A very smart woman. In the fast lane. Hope you have slowed down a little. I don't think I fancy the idea of visiting you only to have hubby, son and daugther all lined up in a row, anxious to show me iron marks on their thighs!!! Sorry yaaaa.
