True: the Dream of Nutella

But in good conscience I don't get it, in the first place, but because I seem to have lost track.

I can't buy clothes in the right size either. O can buy everything, he has my size as well as in memory and can buy JEANS for me that fits like a glove over the butt. I can't buy even a t-shirt for someone other than myself. It sounds like a convenient excuse to indulge in egoistic shopping, but I actually buy almost nothing.

let all cook for themselves is contrary to my perception of the parental role.

" I bought the vaniljyoghurt yesterday? I'm trying to.

– But it is the end of the year.

" Mother, buy NUTELLA.

not Nutella, except for birthdays or when principles are temporarily happen to have softened. It can happen if I happen to have thought earnestly on the nougatkrämspannkakorna in Montpellier when I was 20, at the hot chocolate at Cafe Bibal, and the people who belong to the memories.

and with pastaförrådet the end, we had endless amounts of penne rigati.

" Mother, not RICE, I am TIRED OF RICE.

I mumble ”eat a carrot”, and spreads even a sandwich.

As if the bread were an inexhaustible resource. Once in trends beginning started O and I weekends with bagerifärsk finlevain and marmalade. Now, we alternate Polarkaka with home. It, one could believe that they liked.

– NO-SEEDS-MOM-I-HATE-SEEDS, " she says just eat bought rågsurdeg with liver pate, if it does not happen to be Nutellatoast, and sounds very offended.

my vetekrossfrallor, it pleases me. Another prefer corn flakes, all eat twisted baguettes. Because I'm the only one who appreciates the walnuts and her house I bake three kinds of bread.

It is not just me. They have begun to use the veckopengen, in the pantry, I will find one day a müslipåse marked with the name and in the fridge is a Plop with a carefully påtejpad patch. ”Eat it and you're DEAD”.