So I was sitting on the couch, deep in a book, when Sydney says out of the blue, “So are you going to write a post about the catastrophic lunch we had today?”
Note that no such post had been floated in conversation at any time today, and as far as I knew no recognizable catastrophes had taken place. Sydney had made a great Sweet Potato Burrito dish that I had thought was quite good, but when I asked him his opinion of it I got shrugs and comments along the lines of “Edible,” “Possibly edible,” and “It’s alright, I guess.” So I was confused that a) he didn’t seem to like the dish better b) he later described the dish in terms of catastrophes and c) he brought it up hours later. My conclusion was that he was actually quite proud of the dish and wanted the world to know about it – not that he himself made that clear.
I am happy to note that I was right in my guesses, as Sydney later acknowledged. By this point I have finally figured out how to pick out my husband’s true opinions any time he starts waffling like a bashful teenage girl.
Speaking of girls, I would like to cite this particular experience as counterevidence to those who make claims about the female sex being that which is flighty, fickle, or flaky. Sydney also, by the way, does a credible job of batting his eyelashes. I’ll leave you with that picture.