You don't know me.

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Sometimes my choice of wording is horrible.

The other night, the lady of the house cooked, checked to see we all got fed, and then left for some event or another.

Her husband took his plate into the family room where the TV was on, showing the last few minutes of Notting Hill, while I sat at the breakfast table in the kitchen. Right at the point of the movie where the two love interests (Erin Brockovich and Darcy, I think) are figuring out that they've been dumb and really do love each other, he brought his plate back over to the kitchen, commenting "It's pretty good, isn't it."

I must admit that Notting Hill does not make my list of favorite movies. It may have something to do with the roommate I had who watched that movie approximately twice every week on her computer which was conveniently located directly across from my bed. But I don't want to go around offending other people's choice of movies, and so I said "Just the right sort of mush, huh?"

Woe to me. He wasn't referring to the mushy movie, he was referring to his wife's cooking.


Which makes me wonder... if the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, surely the way to a man's hit list is insulting his wife's cooking.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Oh my goodness this is so funny especially because I think I know who you are referring to. What a great laugh I got out of that one. It's a good thing everyone knows what a sweetie you are and that you could never possibly insult anyone's cooking!
10:39 PM
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