Now, don't get me wrong, I've got the big stuff down to a science as far as being a role model, but it's in the finer points that the details get lost. Take today for instance, the catalyst for this post. My wonderful husband, Mike, got up and decided to make omelettes for breakfast before we went to church. Very sweet, right?
Well, yes and no. As many of you know, I do not eat eggs. No way, no how. I'm not going to get into the details here about why I won't eat eggs, but suffice it to say, I just don't. The only exceptions would be eggs in a recipe (such as a cake or cookies) and Paula Deen's breakfast casserole. No eggs for me - no scrambled eggs, no eggs Benedict, no over-easy, no hard-boiled eggs, no way, no how. When I used to teach, my students found out I didn't eat eggs, and when they asked me why, I told them I don't believe in them. That was an interesting conversation - "You don't believe in EGGS?" Nope, I don't believe in eggs. Really I just didn't want to prejudice them for life about why I don't eat eggs, but that is besides the point. I just don't eat eggs.
Back to the matter at hand, my poor role model abilities. Mike made omelettes. Good omelettes, with cheese, ham, spices. And he knows I don't eat eggs, so no pressure or anything, but he did put half an omelette on my plate. And I want you to know, I tried. After all, who else's husband wakes up on a Sunday morning and makes a gourmet breakfast for everyone in the house? I didn't want to discourage him, but I also was having serious issues with my abilities to put a smile on my face and eat my omelette, therefore acting as a role model for my highly food-conscious 3 year old son.
Let's just say I couldn't do it. I got up from the table to make coffee, and while thinking about putting a piece of that omelette in my mouth, I started gagging and making retching sounds. You'd think I was 3 months pregnant - I used to make those gagging sounds all the time! But I wasn't, and there was really no excuse for my behaviour, I just know that I don't, or let's just say I won't, eat eggs. And I want you to know I tried, but I couldn't.
God love Mike, he wasn't upset - he understands my food idiosyncracies. He does, after all, pull chicken off the bone for me in the other room and throw the bones away so I don't have to see the evidence. So he understood that I couldn't even try a bite of the omelette. But the fact that he was so kind about it is what made me feel so bad. I mean, I know he hates meatloaf, but I love it, so I made it one day, and he even went back for seconds. That's love - either that or he knew it'd be chinese take-out and pizza for the rest of the week if he didn't pretend to like my home-cooked meal!
Mike moved the omelette away from me, and I poured myself a bowl of Lucky Charms. Lucky for me, Sammy didn't notice that Mommy wasn't eating her food and got a snack instead. One of these days, he's going to notice, and then I'm going to have to choke down an omelette. But maybe I'll have grown out of my food preferences by then . . . or not. I don't believe in eggs.
What are your food idiosyncracies?
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