Different doesn’t mean better

It was a heady fun-filled morning of dishwasher emptying, washing putting on, toy tidying and sorting out baby’s clothes to get rid of the ones that are too small now. I also decided to clear some of both of our clothes that were maybe mistakes, the ‘fun’ ones. I have a history of not being able to decide if something is ‘a bit different’ or hideous; a pair of knee-high, green, pirate-style boots being testament to that. So onto ebay the stuff goes. After trying to cram a normal person’s workday into a nap of previously unspecified length, it was time for lunch. I decided beans were on the menu, who am I kidding, they’re back, we both like them. But I made French toast/eggy bread because that makes it DIFFERENT.

Slice of bread, buttered on one side, dipped both sides in beaten egg, then fried in non-stick pan (the new one, husband, grey with the flecks in) butter side down first, no oil. The fact that baby left this bit until all other bits of lunch had been exhausted suggests that she agrees with the adage that different isn’t necessarily better, but I liked it.

Pitta bread pizza for tea, thanks to friend for this revelation! One half of a pitta lengthways, spread with tomato puree, sliced mushroom, spring onion, bit of grated cheese; under grill until cheese melts. We now eat this regularly, so not different and definitely good.

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