The peril of noble advice near tofu

A woman, with shiny quality curls, shoved a packet of soft tofu in front of me yesterday excitedly, because she heard me tell my young puffin there was no possibility this side of Mercury I would be buying the gunky looking peach flavoured GMO soy bean pudding he insisted upon.

Just add cocoa powder, says she of the good curls, it’s as good as chocolate pudding, my kids never notice than difference.

She added a few more supporting facts about neighbouring packets of soft tofu and thoughts of chocolate pudding had begun to be genuinely appealing.

I begin with four spoons of cocoa and a hand blender. It’s very dusty. I am unconvinced. It doesn’t look like chocolate pudding. A small lick .. such a shocking affront to my tongue that I add three large spoons of brown sugar. Then a more anxious pitch took over and I threw three big spoons of raspberry jam. Worried that raspberry jam was very silly thing to put in I hail the puffin to taste it. He look enthusiastic and swiftly revolted.

-it’s like batter wails the Puffin

-by no stretch of bleedin’ beep beep imagination does this resemble chocolate pudding, blasts the mammy craytur.

Feck it, piled another four large spoons of real hot chocolate into it, in an gesture of drowning the vileness out of it.

Reenter the puffin

-much improved.

But the problem is that the presence of tofu just couldn’t be obliterated, given the blasted thing was made of tofu.

Still disgruntled I suggest we fling it the freezer and eat it only in the event of an earthquake.

Moments later I disclose I feel very sick.

Puffin says he feels sick.

Really?

Well not really. I just feel we should go to the bakery and get a lemon cupcake to get rid of the taste.

We agree to brave an incredible rainstorm to walk five blocks to the shop having further agreed no lemon cupcakes, sensible duck crackers and less sensible choice for mother craytur.

At the bakery puffin shouts excitedly “look there’s a mouse!” Woman behind counter admits a “rodent” (she won’t commit to which variety) walked in the back door and has gone missing in action.

Mother craytur sincerely and irrevocably (forever and ever amen) terrified of rodents tries to climb into shopping trolley and generally wails like a goose, while bakery person asks Puffin to locate the mouse.

Puffin obliges. Mother waves hands and wails. Mouse or rodent cannot be located. Bakery person tells folks not to be alarmed. Mother craytur is very alarmed. We pay for provisions at neighbouring cash till and Puffin points out mouse is by front door: are we going out that way. Certainly not. Puffin points out umbrella is left in tall tub by front door. I ask Puffin to go get. Puffin goes to get it, but bends down and declares mouse presence again. I declare sighting excitedly to staff who ignore me and continuing cutting buns. Puffin returns sans umbrella. Declares he only likes mice in the distance and up close they are a bit scary wants me to go with over there with him. I say let’s abandon umbrella. Then note that storm is now coming down at such a rate pneumonia is on the menu. I beg Puffin to get umbrella. Puffin refuses. I offer Puffin money. Puffin refuses. I beg cashier to get umbrella. Cashier obliges. I heap silent blessings on cashier to the tune of God be good to her, may her house be rained on with gold coins. We exit distant door, far from mousie.  At door and window where mousie was spotted I say to Puffin. OK where is he?  We bend and peer under the trollies through the window while the rain runs into the back of our boots desperate to get a look at him, now there’s a thick pain of glass between us all. Puffin admits he thinks mousie tail is as long as his hand and mousie’s feet went up by his ears when he walked like a crocodile.

In future must speak a foreign language when discussing puddings with the Puffin. Must scan trollies for furry presence before entering magasin. Practice attachment parenting with umbrella at all times. Trust implicitly Puffin opinion on pudding matters rather than gals with shiny hair. Good chocolate pudding does not produce shiny hair.

Post script note: on subsequent visit phobic mama requested status update on Mr Mousie and it was acknowledged Mousie was actually a small rat and er… the cessation of blood through his veins is suspected, but has not yet been established.