“Alex, come back! The pasta's this way!”
Glen's voice booms through the aisle of the giant supermarket that we've found ourselves in. Don't laugh. I've never been in one before. I've only ever needed to pop into something like Spar to pick up a microwave meal or a packet of cigarettes. I've never needed to go out and find the ingredients for some grand meal..
That's what we're doing now. Glen and I are on mission. A mission of great importance. Or, so Mark says anyway.
Mission objective: To find all necessary ingredients for something called Lasagne. It's easily the most complicated dish I've ever heard of, and requires the people with the highest concentration level to find each element to this eloquent masterpiece of a recipe. And, of course, that means myself and Glen. Mark has the observational skills of a goldfish and Danny...well, he's just Danny.
We've got a list of everything we need. It's a pretty big list. Twelve things. Twelve things go into this meal. It's going to fit for a king! Stuff your burgers and fish and chips and microwave meals. Lasagne is where it's at!
Yes, I'm sheltered. I thought we'd established this?
“Alex, where are you going?”
I spin back around, bouncing back towards the Irishman. I don't know where I was going. I was just letting the colours of the tins around me drag me through the aisles. It's all so exciting. I feel like a child, finally getting the childhood I deserved...
“Are you going to keep running off?”
“No. Maybe. Yes.”
“Get in the trolley.”
This may seem like some sort of punishment. Grounded by my housemate for having too much fun in a place that I guess you're not supposed to have fun. But, if I'm totally honest, the second I saw the trolley, I wanted to get into it. I just thought it was too childish and held back.
But hey! I have permission now. People can give me all the funny looks they want. I've been ordered. Nothing I can do.
Glen pushes us around the rest of the shop, handing the rest of the ingredients to me. Ignoring all the looks from the snooty shoppers as he drives a trolley with not only food, but a full-grown woman through the aisle. Muttering grumpily when we're out of earshot. Bloody misery guts.
“Come on, Glen!” I chirp, turning to look at him. “This is a mission! You heard what Mark said!”
“He could have done this himself...”
“No, you heard him! Only the people of utmost importance can undertake the mission! And that's you and me!”
“I got barely any sleep last night...”
“That's irrelevant! What did those people on that film we watched the other day say? The board is set, the pieces are moving. We come to it at last, the great battle of our time!”
“Quoting The Lord of the Rings at me won't stop me from being tired...”
“But think about it! Without us, Lasagne will fail! We are the pieces, Glen! And we need to keep moving to win this battle!”
He glances down at me, not able to stop the small chuckle.
“You're mental,” he laughs, shaking his head. “But alright, fine. Let's just get it over with. Checkmate and all that. Then we can get some food. Build up our energy for this epic lasagne battle.”
It takes us no time at all to complete our mission once I've gotten his spirits up. I should be a commanding officer. Without me, this mission would have failed. Mark will be so proud...
