It was basketball season and during the season, I do not have much time to cook (I am a coach for Seba’s high school team). So one night, my wife decided to make my spaghetti and meatballs. Like so many of my dishes, there is no real “recipe” so she kept texting me during practice.
Once Seba and I got home from practice, we all sat down to eat.
After a couple of bits, Sebastian started digging into one of his meatballs…
Sebastian: “Who made the meatballs?”
My wife: “What does it matter? Do you like them?”
Seba: “Oh, so you made them?”
My wife (again): “What does it matter? Do you like them?”
Seba, digging out a piece of the meatball: “What is this?”
My wife: “Oh, that must be a piece of bread.”
Seba: “Huh?”
My wife, to me: “You put bread in yours, right?”
Me: “Yeah, but did you mash it up into like a paste?”
My wife: “Yeah, no, I didn’t have time.”
Seba, digging out another large piece of bread: “Well, I guess they are not bad, for bread balls.”
the drunken cyclist 