“Sometimes the why doesn’t matter in the face of what is.” – “Innocent Monster” by Reed Farrel Coleman
Thought you made Liver Pate last night.
I did. It’s in the fridge.
I open the door and cannot locate the item in question due to the proliferation of assorted goods therein. Where in the fridge I ask?
It’s written on the package.
Hmm. I don’t see anything that says Liver Pate.
So she reaches inside and from the back of the fridge she retrieves a small package, holds it under my nose and sure enough, in small, obscure print it says “Liver Pate.”
Quickly I decide it would serve no purpose to point out that only God with his all-seeing optic abilities could possibly read the inscription while the container is buried in the bowels of said fridge.
So I proceed to the next step which is to actually taste the stuff. Which I do.
Hmm. It tastes kind of different. Not as spicy. Missing something.
So I ask, very carefully, did you make it differently this time?
(I’m on her turf now and this could get ugly. The situation calls for tact and diplomacy) Well…………………..I ah, well, I’m not sure. Seems to taste different.
It shouldn’t. I made it like I always do.
Well…………………………………there was one minor change. (See folks – first the denials and then the qualified confession. This is the female mind at work, laying man traps)
What did you do different?
I didn’t have enough Worcestershire sauce.
Aha. So you did make it different.
(At this moment I observe a not so subtle mood change. The hairs on the back of my neck quiver and I decide that retreat is my best option)
But it was good. No complaints. We’re cool. You’re cool. I’m cool.
“Marital ignorance is bliss, but willful ignorance is just stupid.” – “Radiant Angel” by Nelson Demille
It is a horrible feeling to be in the middle of making something and realize your missing part of your ingredients. This happens to me quite often. You must like Liver to eat Liver Pate.
Oddly, I love my wife’s liver pate but Liver not so much.
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