If this was a trap, I wasn't ready for it.

There'd been pressure to greet the neighbours. They were here. They were mingling with each other, wine, petit pies and bossa nova music.

I fetched more glasses from the kitchen. A nice-looking woman apologised that she hadn't had the time to make something for the event, showing me her bag of groceries.

Of course, I protested that it was unnecessary for anyone to bring food or drink; there was plenty. And of course, she begged to differ and commandeered my kitchen appliances to make winter soup. A soup made of winter. I left her.

Bossa nova gave way to motown. The lady from the kitchen hadn't re-appeared, so I reluctantly checked the kitchen. She apologised for taking so long. She looked up from her soup preparations. "I'll serve this up," she smiled.

I signalled for the General. He entered and handed me my tablet. I filled in the form.

"Ms Alders," I began.
"Yes," said the confident woman.
"I have to fail you, unfortunately. There were three errors."

Her smile drooped. Distorted.

"One," I continued, "You brought ingredients to another person's home, to prepare a dish in their house. This is unacceptable unless previously and precisely arranged with the host. Two, you chose soup as an appropriate food for an event where people are mostly standing around and socialising with each other on the go. It's not appropriate. Three, your hands were resting on the scalding hot cooking pot while you were preparing the soup. This would have caused severe burns to your hands. That's three. I have to fail you."

She left in tears.

"Should give her extra marks for the crying," I said. "That was appropriate."
"She has a lot to learn," said the General. "She wasn't ready for this test and should never have applied for it."
"And me?" I said. "I sense you're grading me too, today."
"Perceptive," said the General. "I don't have to fail you."