Father-in-law nearly kills me

Posted by Ellie Omahoney at 11:27 on 7 Jul 2009

• Print
• Share
• Comment

So, it happened like this. Sam was out, Father-in-Law (F-i-l) was meant to be working late, so it was just me, The Wire Season Two and a chicken korma for one.

I was mid daydream about what mine and Jimmy McNulty’s kids would look like, when F-i-l walked through the door. He’s knackered at the moment. He’s been working crazy hours at work (maybe something to do with having to support a 29-year-old son and daughter-in-law? Just a thought).

Anyway, up I leapt, brushing the poppadom debris off my dress ready to play dutiful daughter-in-law, and offered to call back the Indian and order F-i-l his very own korma/poppadum special. F-i-l didn’t look massively impressed by this suggestion. I assumed he was just being polite, so pushed him a bit.

‘Oh go on, you need to eat, you haven’t been eating, you’re looking thin [he really is very thin – he’s the thinnest member of the one-bedroom household], let me order you something. What would you normally have?’

Long pause. ‘Well, I don’t know, I don’t really ever order from Indian takeaways.’

Oh God, this is another, ‘How do people get their washing done?’ moments. I’m not sure how to react. Do I take this opportunity to educate him in the delights, nay the joys, of southern Asian cuisine? I’m not sure he can take it. He’s tired. Um. Do I sit back down on my poppadum debris and finish off my naan? I’ve just noticed a bit stuck in my hair. Oh God, is saving on rent really worth these exquisitely awkward moments?

‘No,’ he starts, ‘I’m going to cook those prawns in the freezer. I’ll do them with noodles, that’ll be fine.’

‘F-i-l, you can’t do that, they’re frozen.’

‘I can, I can put them in the microwave.’

Hmmm, I’m really not sure about that, but with some pretty shaky microwave knowledge, and Jimmy calling, I decide to let him get on with it. It’ll get him out of my hair, which means I can focus on getting crispy Indian wafer out of my hair, too.

Fast-forward 55 minutes. Neither prawns nor noodles have emerged from the kitchen. The sun’s gone down on Baltimore and Jimmy McNulty for another day and I’m bored.

I wander into the kitchen. Acrid white smoke hits me. It’s coming from the cupboard that houses the microwave. F-i-l is standing at the sink two metres away washing up.

I yank open the cupboard door and am hit by putrid fumes. ‘F-i-l!!!! What are you doing?? What’s burning??’

F-i-l springs into action, looking much like a grazing gazelle that’s just spotted a leopard. Terror and surprise all in one.

‘The prawns!’ he screeches, and plunges his hands into the now blackened microwave.

He grabs a drooping clear plastic packet of shrimp and drops them into the sink, sizzling.

Trying not to breathe in the deadly plastic prawn fumes, we run for the windows and fling them open.

With fumigation now in progress, F-i-l staggers to the sitting room and I follow.

I sit on the sofa opposite him and stare in disbelief.

‘Did you honestly think you could put a plastic supermarket packet into a microwave? How long were they on defrost for?’

Pause. ‘55 minutes.’

Pause. ‘Don’t tell Sam. I really can’t bear to have him mocking me for weeks.’

I pause and nod in resignation, wondering whether Sam and I are going to have to set up a care rota for F-i-L – I’m not sure he's safe alone in the flat.

The door-bell goes. I answer it, while F-i-L sits with his head in his hands. It’s the porter and a woman from six flights up. ‘Thank God you’re okay,’ she says, ‘I honestly thought we’d find flames coming from your flat the smell was so bad.’

F-i-L looks up as I walk in.

‘I would have ordered you a Chinese, you know,’ I sigh.

• Next entry
• Previous entry