I don’t mind cooking.
I don’t mind washing up.
What I CANNOT do is cook or clear up with PEOPLE hovering in the kitchen.
It is a small kitchen. It is made smaller with two more people hanging around. It is made EVEN SMALLER when one of those people opens a drawer (like, that’s half of the width of the floor space) then stands in front of it (almost touching and nudging me while I deal with HOT THINGS) debating over which of the twenty identical teaspoons they wish to use.
Fucking move. I want to dish up. You can see me holding HOT POTATOES. Take a spoon and GO.
This is why I stopped having my parents here for a weekly meal. I remember now.
Merry Christmas every one.