I ordered in for berbuka/dinner tonight, as Q has an office function, and it doesn’t make sense to cook for one and a quarter (aka the toddler).
The rider came, delivered the food, and left.
Hatta: Where’s the motorcycle Mummy? Where’s the man? Where’s the motorcycle?
Me: He’s left.
Hatta: No, Mummy. He’s right. He going right.
Perfecting Asam Pedas 