The Great Cheesy Mash Conspiracy

Ok, there really was no conspiracy. In actuality I never suggested there was one. But the fact remains that people were talking about cheesy mash and my mash was unquestionably not cheesy, not even remotely, nary a sign of cheese.

So my lovely and wonderful (not to mention dead sexy) wife offered to make dinner last night. Usually, I make the meals, since she loves my fabulous cooking. Oh yes, it's not just my buns that are the best. Since we had both worked extra long hours that day, I considered this a very generous offer and one not outside her wonderfully loving character. After much lounging around and watching the greatest game show to ever grace the small screen (Countdown), dinner was finally ready.

I found my plate in the kitchen and gazed down upon my noticeably smallish portion of mash. I think it's fair to say that the words "Where's the rest of my mashed potato?" may have shaped the nature of the next 2 hours conversation. I swear to all that is holy (again, Countdown) that it was an innocent question initiated by pure curiosity and not an ounce of criticism was intended, nor could any sarcasm have been detected, even by the most sensitive of ears. None-the-less, it could easily be argued that such a question is rather inappropriate in a situation where someone has been so kind as to cook you dinner.

Anyway, apparently, in an effort to increase the miniscule chances that the girls would eat some potatoes, my fantastic wife added cheese to the mash. Or rather, to some of the mash. And here is where the real trouble starts. Communication is tricky, even amongst the most familiar of people there can be lost nuances, definitional differences, usage disparity... it really can be quite problematic. So when my lovely lady said “I've added cheese to the mash for the girls in the hope that they might like it more” I took her to mean that she had added cheese to all the mash, in the hope that the girls might like it more. In fact what she meant was “I've added cheese to the girl's mash in the hope that...”. With this misunderstanding firmly in place, I went about eating my delicious meal. Of course I found, to my surprise, that the mash was decidedly uncheesy. Not particularly bothered by this, I carried on eating and only upon hearing the girls and my wife have a discussion on the merits of cheesy mash v normal mash was my curiosity raised once again. Finally, after enquiring about and receiving the last of the leftover mash from the pot, my taste buds were graced with the familiar, fragrant, full flavour of mature cheddar splendor.

Huh? Cheesy mash after all? But, but, but…. my mash was not like this. Why? Why with all this talk of cheesy mash had my mash been so non-cheesy? And so I enquired. Please recall that the previous mashy question had not been received very well. I can assure you that this one went over about as well as a bad fart in a stuck elevator. Although not intended, although never mentioned, it was taken that I believed there was some sort of conspiracy going on, whereabouts I was the only one to not to receive cheesy mash. A great plot of weeks of planning and conniving in which the devilish outcome would be the painful and humiliating event of my mash being so plain as to not even suggest a hint of cheese. Much teasing and pointed laughing ensued at my expense. “Why would you be the only one not to get cheesy mash?” and What possible reason could I have for only giving you plain mash?” were frequently repeated. And perhaps I deserved such mocking, I don’t know.

All I know is that there was much talk of cheesy mash and my mash was unequivocally lacking in cheese