After work I nap and then have a bath and the grey light in the bathroom is exactly how I feel, pale with Friday tiredness. Although I am tempted to just make a bowl of spaghetti to go with yesterday's ragu, the way my husband's eyes light up when I say '...or lasagne' convinces me. We make it together, standing at either end of the stove, layering the red and white sauces, slivers of mozarella, fluffy parmesan and pasta sheets. Like making a bed.
Passing spoons, we discover that even after all these years side by side in the kitchen there are still some words we don't have translations for. We exchange them now. Ladle. Mestolo. And I wonder if we will remember them in the morning.
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