While Strawberry was helping me do the dishes that Thanksgiving night, I finally got the courage to confront him about his lack of jello consumption. Not to seem overly concerned, I asked in a half-teasing kind of way. He smiled at my inquiry. It was a smile that had begun to cause my knees to weaken.
Then taking the dishtowel from my sopping hands, he rested his forearms on my shoulders and said, “You are a wonderful cook, and I loved everything you made. But I distrust jello.”
I needed to delve deeper.
He proceeded to explain that his well-intentioned mother, a nurse, was convinced that jello, particularly lime, was a cure-all. Whenever he was sick, she forced him to eat it. But eating it never made him feel better. It made him feel sicker. So now, he consciously avoids even the sight of the rubbery substance, or he becomes less than lucid.
I wonder if he’d feel differently if he knew that a bowl of wiggly lime jello, when hooked up to an EEG machine, shows brain waves identical to those of adult men and women. Just a thought.
To be fair, I must admit that when he nearly drooled describing the cranberry sauce his mother makes, I politely kept my mouth shut. However, I did turn my head and release a mute gag. Thank goodness he arrived with wine, and not the cranberry thing. Yuck! I’m a non-cranberry sauce eater, and it would have slyly found its way into my napkin.
In the end, jello was not a deal-breaker. I was slowly reincorporating a man into my life, and this situation had given me further insight into my sweet Mr. Strawberry. It also reminded me not to rush to judgment, nor to assume a prejudice against a side salad until I’d heard all the facts.
Speaking of judgment, or the absence of it, Colin was still bobbing his tail-twirling self in my vicinity. After managing to dodge dinner for several weeks, I finally stopped resisting. I decided that brunch the Sunday after Thanksgiving would be harmless. But it wasn’t and I reluctantly had a good time. Truth is, Strawberry weakens my knees, but Colin makes them knock. I wish they didn’t, but they do. And that seems so wrong.
I am flattered to have two gentlemen callers, but it gets so complicated. And the big holiday dilemma is that they’ve both expressed interest in my whereabouts for New Year’s Eve. Oh Holy Night! Naughty or nice?
to be continued...
