"What is your real name?" Carol wants to know. Melissa has taken away the remains of the salad and is just returning carrying the main course, a huge pyrex serving dish full of a steaming vegetarian dish.
"I can't remember."
"You are being very droll, you know," says Carol with dry irony. This is the third time I have caught her being British quaint, using first the word quite, then I dare say, and now, droll. Perhaps she grew up with older relations, and lived in rather a restrained and sheltered upper middle class bubble. Or perhaps she is merely pretentious. Odd woman. With her share of contradictions, given how she started out today declaring that our sexuality is a gift, whatever the hell that is supposed to mean. But very supportive of the status quo, at least insofar as the Anglican Church is concerned.
"Not intentionally." This dish seems particularly delicious, I see various vegetables, broccoli, mushrooms, eggplant, peppers and zucchini and what appear to be cubes of tofu and whole cloves of roasted garlic all smothered in a fragrant cheese sauce.
"Not intentionally?" says Aaron with a quizzical smile.
"I mean to say", I can hardly make myself understood while exalting in this half mouthful of savoury deliciousness, "I mean to say that I can't remember my name." Only after a lapse of a few seconds do I feel all eyes upon me. All except for the two brothers in the community, who seem silently, prayerfully, focused on their repast.
"Not intentionally", I repeat, Carefully chewing my food, absorbing the maximum pleasure from this incredibly flavourful food, and knowing that explanations are expected, explanations are being demanded. "I can't remember my name."
"How did you come up with Cosme?" Carol wants to know.
"I have no idea." And now I really want to change the subject, or for someone to come to my rescue. Or simply to pick up my plate and finish my dinner alone in the breakfast room...
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