M vs. F – July 2, 2020

A bit of off-hand humor this evening.  Certainly, you can topsy-turvy this, swapping roles.  A conversation between my lovely and I would likely go thus…

Would you like Chinese tonight? is a true/false, a yes/no question.  There is no “maybe.”  It’s not multiple choice, it’s not essay.  Think. Choose. The pain of commitment will heal.  You ride my case all the time because you think I avoid commitment. Explain how this is different.

Would you prefer Chinese, Mexican, Italian, seafood, or Greek tonight? is multiple choice.  Notice the test preparer did not include “none of the above.”  Attempting “none of the above,” or scribbling out the options and writing an essay answer, you miss the question and waste everyone’s time. Besides, you don’t particularly care for French cuisine. At least not until now.

Where would you like to eat tonight? is an essay question; can’t be answered ‘yes,’ or ‘no.’  Essay the dickens out of it, concluding with why red sandals would certainly go better with your sundress, and incidentally declaring we should stop by Emily’s Boutique on the way home.  If you give me that, “Oh, I don’t care. You pick,” answer and you don’t feel up to eating with chopsticks, cut me some slack.  You held the whole culinary world in your hands and dropped it, before you ended-up with Shitake fried rice and water chestnuts.

If you try that old ploy of ignoring my question, a skill the world admires in you, realize, I’ll just go to the kitchen and eat the refrigerator.  I’m male.  That’s preferred anyway.  Men have, as you often correctly point out, no class, no taste.  But you must admit, there’s an undeniable thrill opening those little cannisters, trying to guess what the green goop inside them is, and actually tasting.   Yes, men do that!  Because, understand, aroma is not generally dependable when ascertaining edibility. Exhibit one: Parmesan or Limburger Cheese. Exhibit two: boiling cabbage, before it becomes Aunt Emily’s Golombki.

Work with me here.  What would you like for supper? My hands are greasy, and after I wash-up and change clothes, I’m gonna be hungry.  It’s raining; I’m not standing in front of the grill in this rain. If you make me pick, we’re going to Enrico’s Italian Pigs on Sticks.  You’ve been warned. 

I guess you have about fifteen minutes.

Published by spwilcen

Retired career IT software engineer, or as we were called in the old days, programmer, it's time to empty my file cabinet of all the "creative" writing accumulated over the years - toss most of it, salvage and publish what is worthwhile.

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