Yesterday, it was just Owen and me doing the grocery shopping. It's been a lousy week. I have no idea why. I was slumping in front of the crowded meat counter wondering whether to defer to pushy people or risk being perceived as pushy myself, and decided this was a "defer" kind of day. You need different strategies for different moods.
Owen: "Can we have clams for dinner?"
Tipsy: "Clams? You don't like clams."
Owen: "Yes I do. I love them. Steamed clams."
Tipsy: "We're having chicken."
Owen: "Then I won't eat any dinner."
Tipsy: "So, don't eat dinner."
Owen: "Okay I won't. Pleeeaaase?"
Not cute. Not appealing. I decided to teach him a lesson. I bought a handful of clams just for him. Came home, dinner rolled around, I steamed the clams. At first I was going to serve them plain -- gray and chewy -- but I softened and made some garlic butter. I do actually like the boy. I intended to sit and watch him eat them so he'd have to look me in the eye when he admitted he doesn't like clams.
And I was right, of course. He doesn't like clams. He said these particular clams tasted "weird," and stopped after two. Which was great! All the more for me. I was too busy eating the clams myself to impart any lessons. They were fantastic, dipped in that garlic butter, so much better than the chicken.