Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Diana and I rarely disagree on the raising of Elijah. Mostly because Diana hangs out with Eli 100% more than me, making it harder for me to raise him in the manner I wish: like a wolf.
But there has been a recent development which I cannot, nay, will not tolerate. Diana has gotten Elijah hooked on pickles.
I hate hate hate pickles. I hate their phallic shape. I hate the fact they were invented 4400 years ago in Mesopotamia (thanks Wikipedia!). But most of all I hate the way they taste. So pickley with their not quite sweet, not quite sourness. Make up your mind! The only use for a pickle is to give you something to fling out the window after visiting a McDonald’s drive through.
So after what must have been a systematic and devious pro-pickle campaign, Elijah is hooked. He asks for them morning, noon and night. “Mo pickle?” If it wasn’t so darned cute I’d yell at him for even suggesting such a thing.
And when he eats them he chews out the pickle innards and leaves the skin behind. Not even Grover the scavenger will eat those sad, flaccid pickle skins.
I’m not going to take this lying down. Diana hates olives. So I am going to get Eli hooked on them. She’ll see who she’s messing with. Yes, it is going to take a lot of martini drinking from me to accumulate enough olives to make it happen, but that’s just the kind of dedication I have to silliness.