i was working on my assessment assignment tonight. i pulled my big comfy easy chair up to the computer, grabbed a glass of water and a tub of that absolutely delicious Exotik yogurt - pina colada, yum! - and settled into my writing rhythm.
my writing rhythm involves reading everyone's blogs and the blogs they link to until i suddenly realize i'm going to be sick i'm so tired. then i start writing because my assignment is due tomorrow.
so i was enjoying my yogurt, prowling through matthew and chera's wedding photography, and doing my best to ignore the vague feeling that there was something i was supposed to be doing. after a while i settled into writing my assessment assignment, and the four pages (plus a chart!) arranged themselves into a coherent unit. i read a few emails (my sister and aunt were feeling witty) and pushed my computer desk out of the way, only to spy my yogurt, still sitting out on the trunk. (what? maybe that's what i'd been feeling i was supposed to be doing.)
hmmm ... is it okay to eat yogurt that's been out of the fridge for two - or three - hours? ...(contemplative stir) ... yep, delicious.
it was at this moment that i realized how much like my father i am.
i grew up watching in awe - and horror - as he sliced the mold off the cheese and ate the good half. he tasted meat that had been in the fridge past its expiry date (expiry date? try dare-me date - it's not green yet). the rest of us nibbled on golden slices while he scraped the burnt blackness off of toaster collateral damage, leaving a film of crunchy fuzz in the sink. i remember one particularly stomach turning moment when he realized the milk in his coffee had turned. nonchalant, he downed it in one swig.
i was sure he had seen (and tasted) much worse growing up on the farm. after all, it takes a special kind of tolerance to drink hot milk straight from the cow. maybe curdles wouldn't taste so bad after that?
after tonight, i'm starting to realize it wasn't necessarily the farm. maybe it was just the same weird sense of stubborn curiosity that i've inherited. the curiosity that makes me taste warm yogurt - just to see if it's still good - or just because i can.
*gross pockets*
i love my dad. i'm glad i inherited more than just his charm and devastating good looks. xox :)
Oh, yeah, right here - ate 6 month old yogurt and lived to tell the tale. And I have had a cheese stick in my purse for the past week that I plan on eating tomorrow morning. I am building up some serious immunity! (As well as a certain amount of something that oddly, might be called a sort of pride...) I find myself eating around rotten spots in apples and cutting hunks off black-ended potatoes and cheerfully downing apple cores or orange peel or water that's been sitting in my cup all weekend - all the while muttering under my breath, "wimps, they're all wimps!" with smug satisfaction...and then, yes, I'm sure that the DNA has come for me at last and I am Dad's daughter. Who'd ha' thunk it?
ReplyDeleteAnd someday, I might even be convinced to wear square-toed boots that look like they belong to somebody's grandmother, if they are cheap enough...but I hope I'll never make a 12-year-old wear them. I love Dad, but THAT was crossing the line...
haha yes! in spite of my dna, i still hold to the fact (yes, fact!) that how good something looks should sometimes take precedence over its ability to keep me warm if the car breaks down ...
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