Disaster master

I want to write something. I don’t have anything in mind right now. I’m sitting with a cup of lemon tea which my mum just prepared. Smells great and tastes greater as always.
That reminds me of the first time I prepared tea, without mum’s help. Dad had said ‘it tastes like a donkey’s pee.’ I had asked him ‘when did you taste THAT?’. After that I never got such a comment, even if did taste awful.
My latest kitchen calamity was quite recent. I had baked chocolate cookies. I had worked really hard for it. I had even given up my precious afternoon nap for that. In the end, I couldn’t even taste it as it came out of the oven with a melted plastic topping! I swear on god that it was a microwave safe bowl and which was used quite a few times and still intact. I saw the cookies right there in the bin. It hurt me to see it lie in there. Coated with plastic. World can turn out very mean to you sometimes. I wait for a right opportunity to give the meanness back to it in some way.
I could hear mum tell the disaster story every person she came across. Even on the phone and to the guests who visited home even after a decade after that event took place. I don’t know if that gave mum any kind of a pleasure, I never asked her not to do so b’cuz every time she narrated, I thought that would be the last time and that she would forget it forever.
The goddamn microwave ruined my probable masterpiece and mum’s pricey bowl.
I hate technology!