I put an apple into HF‘s lunch this morning. It was dutiful and stayed where I placed it all through breakfast, but just as HF was getting up to go to work, it escaped. I saw it sitting on the dining table, looking guilty but smug for having evaded captivity, and I picked it up and said to HF, “Honey, this apple rolled out of your bag.”
He said, “That’s ok, it looked better on the table.”
Silly me, and I had blamed the apple.
HF doesn’t like fruit. Or excercise. Or peanut butter, all of which are Good For You. Yes, I capitalized Good For You, to emphasize the importance. Fruit is healthy. Excercise is healthy. Peanut butter is just plain yummy. HF is mad I say, maaad!
And yet, he thinks I’m nuts for not eating mangoes. You know, I actually ate a mango once. There was a piece of it in my fruit salad and I accidentally consumed it. Boy, whoever snuck that in there was a mean and evil person. And I don’t like mutton when it’s on the bone, because it smells funny and I can picture exactly what part of the sheep I’m gnawing on, and I don’t like green chilis in the raw, and any animal product other than skeletal muscle does not make it into my diet. No organ meats, thank you. I have enough spare parts of my own.
But I digress. I think I may have to make a deal, like maybe if I eat a mango or something HF will excercise for the rest of his life, or maybe if I eat one raw green chili pepper HF will bring me ice cream and then excercise for the rest of his life. Or maybe if I eat all the peanut butter he won’t have to. Yes, I especially like that last one…
It’s 5:46, do you know where your brain is? I don’t.