Eating out is a relief, isn't it?

Because eating out at the Waterfront Bar brings respite, not only from mama's noodles, which she mangles thrice weekly.

Eating out means for me no washing up. No sweeping, no wiping, no wringing of dishcloths, no swirling of tea towels, no wrangling of spoons from the bottom of the sink, no picking up broken crockery slipped from wet fingers crashed to the floor, no bottom-up-face-down rummaging in the cupboard, no shopping, no onion loads lugged up steps in the dark, no space in the kitchen, no hands and knees chasing the spills, no hair lifted from the bowl, no knife edge on finger nails, no forgot to buy the olive oil, no slipped down spatula behind the fridge, no clearing up, no mopping down, no opinions, no arguments, no grief about mama's resolutions, intentions, aspirations and disasters, no cries of Why didn't you tell me? I already cooked this.

Even better, I get to walk home in the dark.