So my mother was just here. It was actually a really nice visit. I think everyone had a very nice time.
Pretty much the only thing she did that annoyed me was to accuse me of being a picky eater over and over and over again, and it just annoyed the ever living crap out of me. Mostly because good lord, I am not a picky eater. I’m just really not.
It might be important to know that my mother once ate lamb brains OUT OF A LAMBS’ SKULL, so I don’t know how I come across compared to her, but hot damn, I know people who won’t even touch raw chicken. I could write a novel called “Things People I Know Don’t Like To Eat” and it would be 7,000 pages long.
I’m not sure I handle any criticism particularly well but when I feel it’s unjustified? I REALLY don’t handle it well.
Regardless, in the face of this situation, I was frustrated with my choices, which seemed to be 1. angrily argue my case while everyone thinks to themselves about what a hot tempered brat I am or 2. sit there with a smile on my face and suffer in silence while I am accused over and over and over again of something I am not.
It never occurred to me that I could also:
1. lie (am I going to have to go down to the police station and be hooked up to a machine to prove that I don’t actually like blue cheese? Doubtful)
2. agree with the ridiculous statement, happily, and say “I know! I hate everything!” and move on.
So instead of either one of those perfectly acceptable solutions I settled for feeling (sort of) superior because at least the fact that I know so many people who dislike so many foods must prove something about my tolerance for my fellow man and about my willingness to be friends with all sorts of people, even those who don’t eat bacon.
Anyway. At one point my mother merrily asked me “Well! Is there ANYTHING you like to eat?!” after I requested no anchovies on my pizza, and rather than burst forth with arguments about my neighbor who won’t eat shrimp and my mother in law who hates mushrooms and cheesecake and my best friend who doesn’t like watermelon, I just said “Yes! I love all vegetables. In the entire farmer’s market there’s not one thing I don’t love.”
And that’s when I realized something.
Holy shit! I AM kind of a picky eater! I don’t like a lot of weird cheeses and gamey meat and I hate blue cheese and I’m not a big fan of lamb. Weird sauces and fish and strange pork bits have never really been my bag. BUT! I also have a gift, because I really do love all vegetables. I really do. I love raw turnips and brussel sprouts and cooked carrots and tomatoes warm from the vine and I would like to fit into a smaller pants size sooner rather than later and this love of veggies? When you want to lose weight? It is a gift. A tremendous gift.
And so I went out and bought 4 plastic tupperware tubs, and my goal for the year is to keep all four of them in the refrigerator, filled with veggies, at all times. Because honest to god celery is one of my favorite foods but it’s not doing me or the size of my kiester much good rotting in the bottom of the crisper drawer.
And that is the story of me, the picky eater, and my four tubs of veggies. I’ll just be over here with my celery. Hold the blue cheese, please.
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