A household moment

I am making a tofu scramble for Raphael and me, for supper. Tofu browned in a non-stick skillet, onions, broccoli, sweet yellow pepper, mushrooms fried in oil in another skillet, soy sauce, hot sauce. It's all ready. The first set of toast pops up. I open the cupboard. No plates. They are all downstairs in the dishwasher.

I rush downstairs, and almost collide with David, who has a light overshirt and a going-outside bag and is pacing around the kitchen, obviously waiting for Lydy. He points a finger at me. "You are a Pamela."

"I am, too," I say, dodge around him, and start taking plates out of the dishwasher. I explain the situation as Lydy comes out of her bedroom. I straighten up with a huge pile of plates. "There, do you think that's enough for two of us to eat dinner off of?"

"I suppose," said David, "if it's just the one course."

I make a kissy noise at him, but he has already vanished, in that way that you know means he is thinking that sometimes the problem with having multiple sweeties is that they talk to one another and instead of just waiting for one you have to wait for both of them even if only one is coming with you. So he doesn't hear me. But Lydy, following him through the door to the dining room, makes a kissy sound back. Then she calls, "Oh, no, wait, that's wrong."

We both laugh. I take my plates upstairs.