A Tiny Bit Of This, A Little Dash of That

She sat across from me, her impish grin broadening and gleaming eyes reminiscent of the little girl.

Masak-masak

So I was maybe like five years old, right? And my mum wouldn't let me into the kitchen, but I would watch her from afar, my eyes reflecting the fire of the stove as I watched in wide-eyed wonder at how Mummy was so good at cooking.

I decided to try it myself one day - Mum and Dad were both out at work, and the nanny wouldn't come until about ten a.m.

And so I spotted my chance - I knew exactly what I wanted to cook, and so my tiny little feet hurried to the aquarium.

I thought Dad wouldn't notice one missing goldfish.

I made a mistake of choosing the most obvious goldfish - the big one that Dad affectionately calls Goldie. What do you mean, why Goldie? He was the easiest to catch, what!

And so I turned on the fire on the stove, and carried the heavy frying pan with both my tiny hands and plopped it onto the fire. Just like how I saw mum do.

But you know what? I forgot to add oil, so Goldie started sticking to the pan.

(hK's note: At this point, I don't think a lack of oil was her greatest problem. You know.)

Suddenly my nanny walked in and her eyes bulged in horror as she flailed her pointing finger at me and screamed "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!".

She was very good, my nanny, and she cleaned up all the evidence of Goldie's Death-By-Frying-Pan.

Dad actually noticed Goldie was missing and he was really upset but he never really found out what happened to her.

Then there was this other time the same year when I was trying to fry fruits, right...