My mother cooks

Ten minutes then I am asleep.

My mother cooks. That is how she says it. So I eat what I can, slowly, and I say thank you, and we manage. It is not a problem to be solved.

Friends asked her to share and she said no, and wrote about how hard that was.

Somebody asked what my secret was and I froze completely. Still working out what I want to say to that.

Starters as a main course, permanently. No explanation offered, none requested.

Skint but going.