SH returned from Indy last night bearing gifts: lots of leftover meat from Doug's party. He also had a two-pound box of blueberries just for me. I love blueberries. When they are in season, I will eat them all day long. SH, who hates any food ending in "erry" always sighs a deep, martyred sigh and tells me he'll try the blueberries because they are supposed to be good for him, but I yank that bowl right away from him.
This photo has nothing to do with blueberries. I just like it. I took it at Ridge Winery when SH and I were in California a few years ago.
He can eat Pringles. I don't want to share my blueberries with someone who is just tolerating them. Blueberries are a scarce item and it's a zero-sum game when it comes to eating them. SH should understand that, having been raised by socialists.
Blueberries are the real reason I can't go to Doug's party. Last time I went, SH bought me a huge box of blueberries while we were at Doug's. I was soooo happy eating my blueberries. They were mine, all mine.
This is an official blueberry photo from a couple of years ago when Lindley, Leigh and I went blueberry picking with Lindley's kids.
And then Heather came over. Heather is great. I love Heather. But she brought her teething toddler with her. As I did not want to offer blueberries to the baby and thought it would be rude to eat in front of him, I put my blueberries in the fridge.
Behind the milk.
Under some cheese.
Well hidden, those blueberries. Safe.
Except I still had a few berries on the table that I was finishing. That Heather saw. And said, "Oh, there are blueberries? Keegan loves blueberries!"
I always think of the perfect response for awkward situations 12 hours later, so when she asked where the blueberries were, I had no answer but the truth. I should have said, "What blueberries? Oh, these? This is the last of them." But I am a really bad liar and she would have known that was an untruth in about half a second.
Instead, as I glared at the blueberry-stealing Keegan, I said, "Ummm. There might be some in the fridge."
She found them. And fed them to Keegan, who hadn't even finished his hot dog, I should point out. And who ate a lot for a little kid.
I'll go to the party someday. Like when Keegan is old enough for me to get my revenge by eating his dessert. We'll see who has the last laugh.