On the weekend, I refitted a dish in front of the menu and waited happily for praise, but what I got was roaring and the wind and rain outside the window. My child went to school aggrieved. I turned on my cell phone and read the menu again and again, with a dialogue with my daughter lingering in my mind: when will your adolescence end? When you grew up in cooking, I was troubled by isover in adolescence. My girlfriend said that I didn’t cook carefully. My husband said that if I had love in my heart, I could make delicious food. My daughter said, “as a housewife, she can’t cook good dishes. What’s so proud of it? Helpless. The alumni group was chatting. At the 09th Alumni Association, I saw the teachers of that year, whose hair was gray. Colleagues are talking about everything in the world of mortals. The peer group is discussing functional relations. I wonder, don’t they have to cook? It’s six o’clock, take the child.

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