Write about: the chef.
Inspired by Kat and I watching Cooked on Netflix the last few nights.
Went to Penticton this afternoon for our 36 week appointment with the midwife. Next appointment is at 37 weeks next Friday and we'll be going week by week at that point, what with the baby potentially coming any day.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I feel nothing. I wonder why I don't feel anything. This is bad, right? I should feel something.
How did I not notice? I know we were busy - swamped, really - but I'm having trouble understanding how I didn't notice until now. You'd think... I dunno.
"Should I call a doctor, Chef?"
"What? No. Not yet."
"Not yet?" A slight pause. "Chef?"
Normally I'd fire him on the spot for using such a disrespectful tone. Somehow, right now, I don't really feel like it though. It must be bad.
"Find the salad first."
"The salad, Chef?"
Note to self: fire this idiot later.
"Yes, the salad. You know, the one with my finger in it?"