I recall my childhood, or rather, I recall laughing at the horrified pale faces of my class mates when they, foolishly I might add, chose a rather dubious attire for a warm summers day of frolicking in the park. The days when everything seemed to be fantastic and good. The world had more or less just stopped staring down the barrel of a nuclear missile silo, said its goodbyes to the USSR and all was well. Our parents had worried faces, yet all we, nay, all I ever cared about, was if the girls in my class would eventually be so frightened that they would strip out of their yellow skirts and dresses, jump into the water and then, well then I wouldn’t know what to do, it was a different time, molesting wasn’t invented yet, back then we called it “a prolonged shame following a weekend at uncle Rob’s house”.
An idiot cooking 