When my wife said she wasn’t getting anything because she felt ‘takeawayed out’, I ordered and ate alone
One of the few positives of lockdown is being able to order takeaways and feeling like a hero for doing so. I always answer the door to the delivery driver expecting some sort of congratulations, or maybe even a medal in the shape of a pizza. What actually happens is I am once again surprised by a brand new interpretation of “no-contact delivery”. So far, it has ranged from leaving the food on a cardboard altar in the middle of the driveway and throwing stones at the window to let us know it’s arrived, to a knock at the door and a kiss with tongues to thank me for my custom. The rules seem arbitrary.
Then there’s the question of what exactly can be considered safe levels of human consumption. I have the same calorie intake during lockdown as a heavy-set man who is cycling across Europe. Also, I’ve been using the extra time in the day to research new snack foods. Only last week I discovered popcorn seasoning (chilli and lemon is a particular favourite). For seven days solid you couldn’t enter our house without hearing kernels popping in the microwave, followed by the sound of my rage at the number of stubbornly unpopped kernels. Then I would eat it all and put another bag in the microwave. While that was popping, I would look at takeaway menus. The other day my wife actually asked me how I was able to eat this much. She wasn’t having a dig – she genuinely couldn’t understand how I was physically able to eat as much as I do.