And then there were none. . .

We’ve had leftover dates from Ramadan, and I thought they smelled moldy. Fahim insists that they aren’t, they’re just going stale, and why don’t I put them in the cake I’m going to bake today? Hint, hint. Yeah. Okay.

So I had to de-stone them.

We have our morning rituals. Fahim usually beats me out of bed because he has to say his prayers before a certain time. Then I crawl out of bed a few minutes after him and I hop in the shower. When he’s done his prayers, he gets dressed, puts a pot of water on to boil, and then does the dishes from last night. When the water’s boiling, he makes tea for the two of us – black tea for Fahim love, and herbal tea for me. And then he makes breakfast, as difficult as that is. (Can you see the sarcasm dripping from that sentence?)

And while he was doing all this, I pitted dates. I watched CNN Asia and I pitted dates.

This is what my exciting life has evolved into.


And now to figure out what kind of cake to make. Or brownies. Or something. Something, anyway.

Author: LMAshton
Howdy! I'm a beginner artist, hobbyist photographer, kitchen witch, wanderer by nature, and hermit introvert. This is my blog feed. You can find my fediverse posts at

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