Running in Circles.

Monday, November 7, 2011

broccoli.

My mom should write a book. "One Million ways to Steam Broccoli." I swear. There is nothing in this world that smells worse than steamed broccoli. And on this so called diet of my mother's, she can eat like three things. Broccolli, celery, and broccolli. So guess what I get stuck eating. for every meal. OH, you guessed it. broccolli. That just sounds like it should be a bad word. And of course, as i was so subtly complaining about this current take-over of the dinner table, my dad went on one of those rants old people like to go on to make the younger, smarter, cooler, better looking generation feel guilty for things that are clearly not their fault. For pete's sake, I wasn't even on the earth yet, but all it is still made certainly clear that my dad, did in fact, walk to school, uphill, both ways, in waist deep snow. (He really did once. My grandma drove him to the bottom of the hill and dropped him off. So he had to walk up a hill to school and home from school. But that's beside the point. Oh, and just fyi, I do not feel guilty about this whole uphill thing) Ok, anyway, back to broccolli. So as I turn on my four year old instincts and refuse to eat my broccolli, my dad instinctly says, "When I was a kid, they didn't even have broccoli!" Or something like that. maybe it was more like, "I didn't see broccolli until I was 25 years old!" I responded with something like "OH, you poor children!" It's a good thing that I am the youngest child and not the oldest. Because I think my parents have grown to appreciate my sense of humor? Or not really. They don't find it very humorous. AS I walked away from the table, my mom screamed, "CAN I FINISH YOUR BROCCOLLI?! I HAVE TO EAT THREE LARGE HELPINGS A DAY!!" or something like that. Oh goodness. All I can smell is broccolli. I need a personal candle. Like you know how they have little head lights? they should have one as a candle. Oh heck all this broccolli is seeping into my brain.