Who and Why

My name is June. I live in Obz. And the only thing that stands between me and madness is my stove. 

I like food. I like making it. And sometimes all I'm doing is just that, making food. But there are times that I cook because I NEED to.

I'm not sure I can explain it, but let me try with a humourous/disturbing anecdote, depending on your personality/alcohol intake:

A couple of years ago I woke up on a Sunday morning with an obsession. I had to make Huevos Ranchoros. (Mexican breakfast of eggs cooked in tomatoes and chillies). I just HAD to. As one does.

So I go to Pick & Pay. On a Sunday. This is a measure of how driven I get. I'm a hermit. I'm sure I have a masters in it from the University of I Hate People. Going to Pick & Pay on a Sunday, when everyone and their extended family is there for an outing, can only be described as lunacy.

So I shower and get dressed and swallow my breakfast medication and storm out and buy the ingredients and rush back. And take my breakfast medication. Again. It's hardly an overdose and God knows I've taken enough drugs in the past to sink a passenger liner but somehow this particular combo sends me over the edge. My heart's going a million miles an hour I'm sweating I'm flushed I'm freaking out. I call Jenny my neighbour to notify her of my impending death and to arrange for the dogs to be taken care of. She however goes psycho and the next thing I know I'm in Vincent Pallotti trauma unit getting ECG's and Nurse Ratched is approaching me with a needle in her hand and I'm terrified, I'm terrified BEYOND BELIEF.

And all I can think is this:

Can you HAVE Huevos Ranchoros for lunch??

I rest my case.

xx
J