Picture it: the year is 2035. My young adult daughter will have just moved out and will invite me over for dinner. I will graciously accept.
She will come up with a menu and go out and buy the ingredients. She will spend time preparing the food and will be excited to have me over as a guest. She will tidy her place and wait for me.
I will arrive with a bottle of wine and some bread. We will chit chat while she plates the food and then I’ll settle into the seat she’s chosen for me at her table. Maybe some conversation music is playing.
She will set the plate down in front of me and smile proudly. I will look at the plate then look at her, look at the plate then look at her.*
Me: I can’t eat this it’s too yucky.
Her: Mom, don’t be ridiculous. You haven’t even tried it!
Me: It looks disgusting.
Her: It’s one of your favorites, just take a bite!
Me: No. If I eat that I’m afraid my tongue might die.
She’ll get frustrated then mad. I’ll continue to refuse it. She’ll yell at me and I will run away, tell her she’s mean then go in the bathroom and pee my pants.
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
*I won’t do any of that. I will eat it all while marveling at this beautiful creature I made out of lemons, blueberry bagels and artichoke hearts.