posted Sat, 10 Jun 2006
What do you do when someone feeds your special, coveted, only in season one month a year food to a teething baby?
I love blueberries. SH does not. You can get them fresh only a few weeks a year. I wait for blueberry season and once it arrives, I eat almost nothing but blueberries.
SH and I stopped in Chicago for lunch with my friends Lenore and Rob on Thursday on our way to Indianapolis. For dessert, in addition to homemade madelines, chocolate-covered pretzels and chocolate-covered strawberries (which SH also does not like because he does not like any fruit that is a berry), Lenore served blueberries. I tried not to be a pig about the blueberries because they are not inexpensive and it is rude to eat all of something – you need to share.
SH made a big deal of saying he would try the blueberries, which he has never liked. I told him not to bother, that he would not be doing me any favors. There is only a limited supply of blueberries, I said, and I don’t want to share.
He protested that he is always trying to get me to enjoy wine so I can share the experience with him and wouldn’t blueberries be the same?
No! I said. And keep your hands off my blueberries! There aren’t enough for me!
But I did eat all the blueberries at Lenore’s and believe me, there is karma when you do something like that.
Now we’re at Doug and Deb’s. Yesterday, SH and Doug went on a huge shopping spree for the big party today. SH came back with a one-pound box of blueberries just for me. (Isn’t he the best boyfriend?) I was snacking on them when some of Doug and Deb’s friends arrived for supper. I hid the blueberries in the fridge way behind two containers of milk so no one else would find them.
To no avail. Trisha needed to feed her teething 13-month-old baby, Charlie. He barely ate any of his hot dog. Ditto for his green beans. “Maybe Miss Class Factotum will share some of those blueberries, Charlie!” Trisha said.
What was I supposed to say? “No! You may not give those blueberries to your baby!” So I smiled weakly and mumbled, “OK.” But I didn’t volunteer any information as to the blueberries’ location, hoping against hope that she might forget her mission in the next 15 seconds.
Didn’t work. She opened the fridge, didn’t see them, and asked me where they were, so I had to tell her.
I still didn’t think it would be so bad. This was a kid who had eaten ¼ of a hot dog and three green beans. How many blueberries would he eat?
A lot. He’d been pacing himself. Waiting for the blues. As he scarfed them down, Trisha looked at me and asked, “Were you guys saving these for dessert or something?”
I shook my head and said, “No. Not at all.” Considering Deb and Doug have an open-fridge policy that I myself have already taken considerable advantage of, I didn’t see that I could deny this hungry kid the one food he seemed to like and could actually eat with his sore gums.
Then Doug and Deb’s oldest kid, Joseph, who is five, came along and saw the blueberries. Sat down and started eating them. I just watched helplessly. I sure wasn't going to say anything to him -- his parents were being very generous hosts and to deny their little boy a handful of blueberries would be mean beyond belief.
And remembered that I had eaten all the blueberries at Lenore’s.
What goes around, comes around.
PS Doug, let's not share this with Trisha, OK? I don't want her to feel bad.
The end of the line
1 year ago