“Now you have to admit you don’t hate squid as much as you thought you did,” says my husband.
I’ve been going through pictures of new lemur species and the find of the ancient mososaurus found in Texas and the ancient sea monster Dakosaurus andiniensis, reading the news stories to H.o.p. We look at a few pics of giant squids. I was about to refer to a post I made several days ago about how global warming will be good for kalamari and how much I hate kalamari and squid, but I fortunately remembered I never made that post. However, Marty is well aware of how much I hate kalamari and squid and octopus. I’m telling H.o.p. about how some people eat octopus and squid and I’m telling H.o.p. how I hate it but his dad loves it.
Enter his dad.
“You’ve been eating squid for years, you just don’t know it.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have.”
“No, I haven’t!”
“Yes, you have.”
Imagine several more rounds of me yelling that I have not been eating squid.
My husband is the primary cook around here. If he’s telling the truth he’s referring to something he cooks.
“What?” I demand. “What has squid in it?”
“I put it in all my gumbo”
“No! You do not! I have not been eating squid!”
“Yes, I’ve been putting it in the gumbo for years. I cut it up in small pieces so you don’t even know it. Now you have to admit you don’t hate squid as much as you thought you did.”
(Moment of silence.)
That’s just plain mean. That’s like when his mother tried to pass off her garden zucchini on me in casseroles and I hated zucchini.
My husband is just like his mother!
Huh. How do you like that, Mr. Cook.
Mr. Cook objects saying, “I don’t cut it up fine so you don’t know it isn’t there, just so it’s not chewy.”
“You never told me.”
“You’ve stood right there and watched me doing it!”
“It must not look like squid!”
“I get it in unsorted seafood stuff. It has squid and mussels and octopus and all kinds of things.”
I really ought to pay more attention to what’s going in my food.
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