Foreboding

Since Christmas Day, I’ve been troubled by a sense of impending doom. I attribute it to the stress of being cooped up in the same house with my parents for 11 days during the Christmas holidays.

I feel that something bad is about to happen but I don’t know what it is. I go to bed in the night with butterflies in my tummy. I’m unable to sleep soundly through the night. I start to get anxious about stupid things like whether I’ve booked the correct date for our family’s Reunion Dinner, about whether or not the new sofa will be delivered in time for Chinese New Year.

Yesterday morning, I pan-fried a piece of chicken breast to bring to the office as lunch. The relentless questioning began the moment I stepped into the kitchen:

“Do you know how to turn on the stove? Move aside. Move aside. I will do it."
“Have you washed the frying pan?”
“How are you cutting the chicken? Are you slicing it or are you dicing it?”
“Why didn’t you dice the chicken last evening instead of this morning?”
“Are you sure you’ve marinated it enough? From the looks of it, it doesn’t taste very good.”
“Are you using olive oil to fry it?”
“Have you cut the potato into half?"
“Do you think this box is large enough to hold the chicken and a pototo?"

Are all mothers this annoying?  I could barely keep myself from screaming audibly.