As usual on Sunday mornings, Maya and I went shopping for groceries while the rest of the house slept. An hour of father-daughter time spent picking out firm potatoes, the perfect strawberries, finding the freshest thyme and basil so that we don’t need to resort to eating boiled noodles and canned pasta sauce is time well spent. I’d bought some croissants the day before and figured that making them into French toast and adding fresh strawberries and whipped cream might make for a nice Sunday brunch. A quick stop at Starbucks ensures that the under-caffeinated won’t rise up and revolt at the extra time needed for a decadent meal. A culinary delight is born.
The results: one plate eaten, one plate with 2 bites from 1/2 a croissant – no strawberries left and a bowl with the whipped cream eaten and all of the strawberries abandoned. Why do I bother? One won’t eat toast, the other will only eat rye toast. One won’t drink apple juice, the other demands Coke. But assuredly, no one wants whatever I’ve slaved over.
After swimming yesterday, Maya and I were waiting to pick up Milo. We were sitting in a little Italian cafe and she asked me for a muffin. “What kind of muffin do you want?” “Do they have banana?” she pondered. “Yes, both with chocolate chips and just plain.” “I like plain banana muffins” I went and got in line, ended up buying dessert for dinner in addition to the plain banana muffin. As we met up with Milo, Maya asks, “What kind of muffin did you get me?” “Plain banana.” I reply. She starts to cry.
“What’s the matter? You asked for a banana muffin and I got you one.”
“I just wanted to know if they had them,” comes the tearful reply, “I wanted blueberry!” Why do I bother?
I need to sign off now, as the most interesting comment from my wife has just floated down the stairs. “We will never make it out to breakfast if I have to keep doing origami in the nude.” she’s just predicted. This I’ve gotta see. She’s likely asking herself, “Why do I bother?”