Saturday, May 16, 2009


Lucas won't eat "wet" meat. He also won't eat pizza that is too "sweet" from what he takes to be an overabundance of salt but which is really ripe tomato. He grazes on Blue Bell frozen fudge bars with a measured licking and lapping, an act of gourmandise that, on Jonas' face, appears as a brown smudge.

When Kelly is away shooting on the weekends, they are in the hands of dad, who does not always take age into consideration when feeding young lads. I lavish them with tater tots, but might, in the same meal, frustrate them with curried chicken, the spiciness of which sours faces. But, I threaten them with a withdrawal of Blue Bell and they usually struggle on.

I admit it's kind of sick. But, as I said, I am alone in this wilderness and easily misguided.

A few weeks ago Lucas confessed that he favored American singles over Parma grana and I tasted the fruit of rebuke. I am prepared to dine on it for decades.

No comments:

Post a Comment