I am a picky eater. I know, shocker, right?
As I have gotten older I've become more adventurous and find myself eating things that ten years ago you couldn't have paid me to eat. Still, there are some things that turn me off, so the small child in me presses her lips together and shakes her head in avid defiance as that spoon full of gross comes at her.
Andy is not a picky eater. Not at all. I've never known him to not try something at least once. If he doesn't like it, go ahead and try to make him eat it again, but usually he adds another notch to the "food I'll consume" column.
You can imagine that we collide often over our two different approaches to new food. He regularly badgers me to try something I've never had and I revert back to my childish ways stinging such verbal bullets as, "You can't make me!"
For the past several months Andy has been fighting a food war with me. A while back he discovered a love for sushi. One food that I had sworn off of for life. Being the patient man that he is, Andy has been slowly picking away at my resolve until tonight he asked again and I said, "Oh, what the hell, why not."
So, tonight my gratitude is directed at the sushi roll I consumed in record time, for its goodness and the promise that I can drive about five minutes to have some more; and to my husband for taking my mother's place as food shover. Thanks honey, that was yummy.
Monday, November 3, 2008
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