About a week ago, I finally managed to get started on purchasing some food items for this the, tis the season to be jolly. I placed the, tis the season to be jolly food items in a sealed plastic shelf unit.
One of the items in the bottom drawer of the unit were marshmallows. An ingredient I use to make a special slop to go with the turkey. I get strange looks when I mention the special slop I have with turkey. A bizarre thought in the minds of English folks. You might know of the recipe I mean.
Grandma's Five Cup Salad.
My son and I had successfully escorted a previous field mouse out the front door. Obviously, there is more than one. My marshmallows had been completely destroyed along with a packet of shredded coconut.
I was rather pissed off. I now had these feelings of deep hatred towards a field mouse. I realised I might need professional counselling.
So back to the supermarket I went. I should mention at this point that the previously purchased marshmallows were the large type and came in pink and white. Not exactly brilliant for my turkey slop. Try getting miniature white marshmallows in Britain.
I couldn't find the flaked coconut. Which meant after ten hours of wandering the shop, I finally asked an employee. In Britain, you have to ask for defecated, desecrated, sorry, dessicated coconut. Success and I had my dessicated coconut! I asked the lady shop assistant, now that I was feeling braver, "I don't suppose you have that most elusive of products, the miniature white marshmallow?" Then she pointed to a package of miniature white marshmallows. I think I had some kind of spiritual experience.
This shows, in a very weird way, that I found a positive out of what had seemed a negative. Although extreme, the field mouse had done me a favour.
I have the white miniature marshmallows and the dessicated coconut hidden in a cupboard way out of reach. I almost love that field mouse. Almost. Maybe I should call it a "mousemallow."