
There are nights you imagine one way, and nights that play out another.
In one version, I read the recipe carefully. One teaspoon of chilli, not one tablespoon. The curry turns out fragrant, warming, balanced. My wife tastes it and smiles. Maybe she even says, “You should make this again.” A quiet victory. A new favourite dish is born.
But in the version we lived, I misread the line. A single letter made all the difference. tsp became tbsp, and what was meant to be a surprise meal became an unintentional act of sabotage. The first bite was the last bite. No amount of water, yoghurt, or apology could undo it.
That’s the funny thing about mistakes—except this one wasn’t funny, not for her. My wife never saw the joke, and my apologies did nothing to sweeten the burn.
Sometimes it only takes one slip of the eye, one letter out of place, to turn a tender gesture into an epic fail.
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