Different sorts of funny

I was hoping something funny would happen on my first day of school canteen duty, so I could write about it this afternoon. But nothing did. Well, nothing funny ha-ha. Plenty of other sorts of funny. Like, funny how many potato gems high-school girls can eat at 10.45am. Here was me thinking they all had eating disorders these days. Must be just the eastern suburbs ones. Or funny how many food items parents think will fit in one paper lunch bag order. Oh, ok, it was pretty amusing to watch five-year-olds agonise over what to get for 50c at the kindergarten canteen window. But not funny enough to spin into a 400-word blog. Canteen is a pretty big deal to little people. I can remember trawling the school drains in kindie for schrapnel so I could buy a 5c packet of Chickadees (ah, those were the days). Actually, it’s spooky how much I can remember – and still taste – about my favourite canteen foods. Finger buns, cheese rolls, party pies … I’d do anything to get my hands on them, even act as a simpering canteen-queuing slave for Angela, the class’ resident rich bitch (she paid for your servility in icy poles). Mind you, it’s much fancier these days. I was surrounded by large jelly cups, small jelly cups, slushies, frozen yoghurt, garlic bread, chicken nuggets, fried rice, bolognese twistas, sweet chilli chicken wraps, frozen pineapple rings, homemade mousse … None of which I can eat on my anti-disaccaride diet, which made it a bit dull. Especially since I left my worthy chicken salad on the kitchen bench at home (I was hoping the cleaner-I-shouldn’t-still-have would put it back in the fridge for me, but no). I could have done with a Diet Coke to ease my pain, but they don’t seem to run to that at the canteen for some strange reason. I came home to find Husband’s chicken gulag had collapsed again. So Henny Penny, Fluffy, Nibbles and Pecky were out ravaging the backyard. Ah, there was my comedy for the day – exhausted food-and-Diet Coke-deprived housewife chases four chickens fruitlessly around the backyard. Actually, no. That wasn’t funny either.

TONIGHT’S MENU: Blissfully not my problem, as my Dad is on babysitting duty while I go out for a drink. I’m betting that means sausages.