The story of mom cooking and dad planting flowers.

My mother cooks and my father grows flowers, which is an intertextual technique, meaning the story of my parents cooking and growing flowers. If I remember correctly, this technique is very classic in Mulan Ci.

Some time ago, my mother called me excitedly: Your father and I are going to eat beef hotpot tonight! ! ! I made it myself! ! !

Me (keep smiling and keep silent): …

A few days later, I talked about it again, and my mother faltered, so I keenly realized that this was a failure!

My mother: ... Actually ... Well, we got everything ready that day ... The pot was broken.

My first reaction: I probably don't want to cook for you. I really can't stand suicide.

In my circle of friends, my mother cooks, which is a joke.

When I was in elementary school, I brought my best friend home for the first time. My mother tried her best to cook a table to show her hospitality. To be fair, this is indeed the pinnacle of my mother's personal cooking career.

For my friend, although she was still very young at that time, the meal left an indelible impression on her young mind-until today, more than ten years later, she can still accurately tell what magical dishes were there and how bad the soup was.

Later, she told me that the meal profoundly expanded her understanding of cooking, greatly broadened her understanding of cooking, and had a great influence on her later views on vegetables, soups and my living environment.

Out of a good habit of not wasting food, she ate all the food allocated to her at that time and still refused to go to my house for dinner today.

When I was in junior high school, one day my mother suddenly wanted to make breakfast for me. At that time, I was still a naive little girl, thinking that my mother, like my deskmate's mother, could make a delicious love breakfast for her daughter with love.

I sleep with this dream, and I get up to study with this dream. In the dim light, I heard a loud noise downstairs-my dream was shattered.

I quickly adjusted my fighting eyelids and rushed to the kitchen door. I only saw a pot, swinging from side to side on the ground with grievances, and my mother stood by with a spatula.

Do you think what I'm trying to say is that my mother cooked fried rice with eggs without salt? No, fried rice with salt-free eggs is just like drinking boiled water at home. It's so ordinary that I'm embarrassed to take it out. I have seen the world.

My mother, fried rice with eggs set the pot on fire.

Later, my mother stopped cooking fried rice with eggs, but she soon found a new job-making soup.

Please don't ask my mother how to make the soup. Sorry, I don't remember. Because she only cooked it once, all my attention was focused on how to bite the wrong loofah-that poor loofah was planted by my father in our balcony flower pond.

Just as I was struggling with the loofah with a calm expression and ferocious heart under my mother's expectation, my father came back and took a bite of the loofah: "Did you peel the loofah?"

My mother: …

Me:! ! ! ! ………

Later, I told this story to my grandmother.

My grandma:! ! ! Some people in the world don't know the common sense that loofah should be peeled! !

My mother is very angry.

I was angry, too.

Because I didn't know that loofah should be peeled.

After so many years, "Loofah without peeling" has become a stalk of our family-a reserved track for the active atmosphere of family gatherings, and it has also successfully jumped to the top of the jokes that have nothing to do with my friends.

Along with the peeled loofah, there are poached eggs as big as a pot, fried rice with fried eggs and so on.

As for uncooked rice and fish with bleeding silk (this is my grandmother's, and my parents can't cook fish at all), they are both classic dramas that must be performed several times on holidays.

Today, I have no pressure to use half a meter; Fish-growing up in my environment, I can't like eating fish-how can fish be tasteless if they are not cooked! ! !

However, when I was a child, I was naive and thought that all the fish in the world smelled fishy. In high school, I had a quarrel with my deskmate over this issue. Until I went to college, I unlocked the fruits of pickled fish and boiled fish under the leadership of a roommate-there are such fresh and delicious things in the world! The most important thing is not fishy! ! ! !

But I must never tell my mother that I have eaten fish now. Because my mother's cooking ability is poor, but her enthusiasm is very high, and she upholds a fearless spirit of being barefoot and not afraid of wearing shoes. She dares to try and is willing to innovate, and likes to fool her only daughter into doing her poor experiments. Generally, when she advised me to go home with an empty stomach and taste the delicious food she prepared for me, there was only a small bowl filled with some dark chicken pieces+duck pieces+qianzi to satisfy my hunger.

Today, I am not the one who dreamed in junior high school. In order to avoid the tragedy of burning the kitchen, I hope that people who read this article will not tell my mother that her daughter can eat fish.

Now let's objectively evaluate my father: in our family, only my father can be regarded as a poor cook. My mom and I don't even have this thing.

On the issue of cooking, my father is the kind of person who dares to try, often fails, and is willing to admit his cowardice, which is also in line with my mother's character of not cooking and loving invention and creation.

Most importantly, in the eyes of the people who eat melons in the front row represented by me, my mother is the only black hole in our family, and the root of her black hole is not cooking technology, but an unreliable nature and an imagination that exists like God.

But later, I found that we were all wrong.

One winter, my parents decided to cook a good meal for my daughter who came back from a long journey, in order to refute a friend's heartfelt words to me: "You will go home soon, so eat something good now."

In view of the fact that a pot in my family just died under my parents' cooking, they let reason prevail and chose to buy sheep scorpion hot pot instead of cooking it themselves.

I am moved by this decision. I am eager to relax on the sofa and intend to enjoy the tranquility of our kitchen for a thousand years. Then, in my ear, there was a purring roar.

I quickly got up and rushed into the kitchen where chickens fly and dogs jump. I looked at the scene of the disaster calmly (after all, I am a skilled worker in this matter) and asked my mother: What did you do?

My mother: The soup in the hot pot is frozen. Your father was blowing with a hair dryer just now.

Me: …

At this time, I didn't have time to think about how the hair dryer blowing 3,000 faulty wires could thaw the stone-hard hot pot soup, and I didn't have time to think about how my parents turned a blind eye to the N feasible methods in our kitchen. Although there were not many successful published works, the equipment was full, but I was attracted by the hair dryer hanging in the bathroom next door.

At that time, there was only one thought in my mind: fortunately, it was not an electric drill. (By the way, collect all kinds of thawing methods)

After this incident, my parents seem to have put down some obsessions, stopped clinging to cooking and started planting flowers.

There is nothing to say about raising flowers in our family. In the past, our family seemed to have a dozen flowers, large and small, but the inventory turnover was relatively fast-the replacement was fast, commonly known as dying.

My parents once raised the extremely tenacious Podocarpus to death, and completely raised the cactus that could thrive in the desert (I don't know how to raise it). As for other large and small plants, I cherish them every year, because I know they will probably be gone next year.

I only keep a pot of asparagus in my room, probably thanks to this land with excellent feng shui, which won my biography and became the only creature in our family fed by my parents except me.

Recently, my parents from science and engineering started to buy more than 20 pots of different kinds of flowers at one time, fully considering the probability factors in mathematics and the diversification in economics. In theory, the average survival rate will probably be higher.

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Finally, end the program with a screenshot of chatting with friends: