For about 33% of the time, I’m rational and have common sense. I file tax returns, shop sensibly, know how wide my car is and don’t put coloured with whites (any more). That collection of stagnant-pond-tinted underwear and towels was my learning curve. At least now I have matching underwear.

For another 33% of the time, I’m imaginative, supportive, self-assured and creative. I cook cleverly; given the time (don’t cite that probability example of an infinite number of typewriters and infinite number of monkeys writing the works of Shakespeare… it doesn’t apply) I can learn new pieces on the piano. I knit, embroider and write.

The 33% that’s left is an unnamed portion of the brain: it only begins working when my husband mentions his mother.

“I prefer my Mum’s macaroni cheese.”

“Oh, really?”

“You prefer her dry, indifferent stodge with its uncooked onions scattered in it and no sauce to speak of? You prefer that tasteless dish to my creamy, subtle dish made with proper béchamel sauce? Hah!

“Ok so you think my cooking’s foul and you’d prefer to live with your mother. I suppose you’ve never wanted to say before, just waiting for the next time I cooked macaroni cheese….Waiting to stick the knife in... You hate me, don’t you!”

That 33% of brain suddenly hijacks all the blood and starts working furiously. It knocks out the other 66% of my brain. It’s like volcanic ash smothering the landscape. And yes, it starts with a molten, unexpected eruption.

If he’d have said he prefers my sister’s/mother’s/brother’s/his brother’s macaroni cheese, sure, let’s get the recipe. Let me see if mine will come out the same.

I don’t even know the origins of macaroni cheese with béchamel sauce; it doesn’t sound like the kind of thing Italians would cook. Heavy, rich, milk-and-cheese-based sauce for their pasta. For all I know MIL’s macaroni cheese is the right way. (I suppose if you like bland food, sloppily put together with no care or interest…)

I know I’m not alone with my third of a brain that works in isolation from the other 66% and operates on MIL proteins. What is it about this casual comment?

Is it some Freudian envy that they had a relationship before us? Hmmm… Or a healthy combat between two women with different domestic styles? Don’t think so. Would she react with her third of the brain if he told her he preferred my macaroni cheese?

Ah but you see he never would say that. That’s the difference. Why? Well that’s something else to ponder. Possibly the next time we visit and she makes us macaroni cheese.