A Ramadan Friday at the HJ household.
Then wallow in bed, till you can push it no further. The baby’s breakfast that is.
You might be fasting, but you better drag your arse off the bed and get some breakfast going for the tiny human. Feeding the tiny human is paramount.
Prep the food. And then hope the baby eats it. At least a quarter of it.
In short, hope for a miracle.
Do some customary spot cleaning. A smidgen of laundry here, some dishes there.
You want to conquer the home and world. Not today though.
Play silly games with the tiny human.
Contemplate what to make for iftar.
Clean the baby up. Pat it dry, clothe it and let it loose.
Discuss dinner options.
The Woman has no intention of slogging over the stove this day. Not today.
Baby wreaks havoc while the adults while away their time on the internet.
Suddenly, out of the blue, you are randomly struck by Shawarma craving.
The Shawarma Fiend strikes when you least expect it. And he strikes hard. As always.
Your every fiber and breath craves the meaty, succulent, gooey treat.
More discussions follow, regarding iftar and dinner choices.
A ton of leftovers from previous hearthy escapades languish forlorn in the fridge. You decide to give them all a chance. And thus, Iftar’s sorted.
Dinner is a no brainer. Shawarma it shall be. From this place that you have never been to, but one that everyone keeps telling you about.
To kill the draggy intervening hours, you will yourself to brave the blistering afternoon heat and perform a weekly exercise that is irksome but mandatory. The weekly LuLu jaunt/ grocery trip.
That done, you quickly get through the motions at Iftar and prayers; and even manage to squeeze in a “guilt-run” (aka quick 45 minute run in anticipation of further gastronomic indulgence) at the Corniche.
All done. It’s time.
10:30 PM. 16.4 km from home. Excited woman. Stoically duteous man. Tired, sleepy baby.
You look outside the car window. You are there. Almost. You have never been there before. But you know exactly where it is supposed to be.
And it is closed. Closed!
For renovation. By the municipality. For change of location. Forever. Who knows.
Who would have thought!
Aah! The anticipation. The long ride. All the talk. And the planning.
On this day, at this time; your craving shall not be satiated.
You are crestfallen.
The man’s secretly smiling. The woman’s belligerently “hangry”. The baby has given up and dozed off.
And this is life folks. There are no sureties. No givens. Plans are never fail-proof. Desires often remain unfulfilled.
Hence the need to always have Plan B.
As in Plan Biriyani!
Till next time.
P.S. Gotta love a town where you can get steaming biriyani at 12AM. And gotta love Ramadan!