Last night at dinner my wife wasn’t happy. She’d been to the grocery store. We rarely buy vegetables.
She demanded, “Where are our beets, our broccoli, our turnips, our carrots? I wanted cauliflower. Where’s the cauliflower? Do you have any idea how much produce has gone up? The prices are outrageous!”
Why didn’t you buy some? I asked.
I soon heard the current price of everything from beets to yams. I learned how brown the cauliflower was, how wilted the broccoli looked, how dry the carrots were. And she was not happy in the telling of it.
None of my several excuses were worthy enough to ward off the assault--nor was my plea that we had lots of lettuce, radishes, and turnip greens in the gardens, winter squash in the basement, chopped peppers and onions, eggplant parmesan, in the freezer, and lots of her fabulous pasta sauce in the pantry.
The promise to plan things more carefully next year barely got me out of trouble.
When a lady wants cauliflower for dinner, my explanation that she can have some next month isn’t going to end the conversation happily.
It’s not like she couldn’t afford to buy whatever she wanted; it’s that she won’t. When you’re used to having vegetables for dinner that you picked an hour ago, something from the grocery store has very little the appeal.
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