I knew my husband was a picky eater when we got married. In the last 11 years I’ve learned that I really didn't have a clue.
During one of our weekly grocery excursions he asks me about juice. The kind that helps you ‘stay regular.’ I said he was probably thinking of prune juice or something like that. We head down the juice aisle and he starts looking at labels. This is the guy whose entire fruit intake was a daily shot of Sunny Delight when we got married, and he thought he was getting actual vitamins from it. It took me 2 years to switch him from 5% crap to 100% actual orange juice. Sighing, I start looking at prices and...
(slightly out of focus, dreamy replay) Hoodchick’s at the kitchen counter preparing holiday goodies. Captain Clueless walks into the room.
CC: What’s that smell? (makes a face as if he just checked the bottom of his shoe and discovered he stepped in dog shit)
HC: (Sniffing the air) What smell? I don’t smell anything.
CC: You can’t smell that? It’s horrible! Like death.
HC: You’re on crack, there’s no smell. Wait a minute, is this what you’re talking about? (holds strainer full of crushed pineapple near him)
CC: Yes, that’s it! That’s disgusting.
HC: You’ve. Never. Had. Pineapple. Seriously, just get out of my kitchen.
Cut to summertime, Hoodchick’s sitting at the table digging into a slice of watermelon. Enter the scurvy husband.
CC: Eating your watermelon huh.
CC: What’s it taste like?
HC: (Slightly choking) Are you telling me you’ve never had watermelon?
HC: Sigh. (How to explain the taste of watermelon? It’s sweet and juicy and a little slice of heaven on a sweltering day.) Try some.
CC: (Takes bite. Makes face like he’s just bitten into a Sulphur Bertie Bott Jelly Bean, starts searching for a place to spit it out.) Ewww!
I’m the first to admit that I don’t love every fruit ever grown, but I do love me a lotta them. I kind of figured it goes back to the baby stage. Everyone knows the jars of peaches, tutti fruiti, bananas and pears were the best. Spoon up some peas or green beans to a tot and you’d better have an apron on because you’re likely going to get it back. So I’m trying to figure out, what the hell did his mom feed him as a baby? Tiny jars of sausage gravy? Pureed pork chops?
Back to reality and the grocery store. He settles on a bottle of prune juice. The label screams things like "For Digestive Help" and "Extra with fiber." Sure, I could have warned him but really, after the flashbacks I figured he'd taste it and never touch it again.
So, the juice makes it home, gets put in the fridge and forgotten until the other evening. He gets it out and reads the label, “Drink 8oz 4-5 times a week.” He gets a glass and pours some “Is this 8 ounces?” I shrug even though it looks like a lot more to me. (One thing you should know about me, I can’t eyeball measure stuff. Is that board 8 feet or 10 feet long? Don’t ask me. I always use measuring spoons and cups. Tape measures. Odometers. And he KNOWS this, but still asks me shit like this.) So, he drinks. I wait. No yucky face, just a thoughtful “That’s not bad.”
Fast forward to the following evening. I get home from work. Captain Clueless tells me “Well, that stuff works. This morning I got to work and it was like” making faces like he can’t figure out the right word, eventually settles on “explosive.”
Sorry honey, that was sympathetic laughter that exploded from me.
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