July 12, 2005
I don't drink coffee.I also don't do other people's dirty, stinky, sweaty, moldy laundry, go to the traditional Friday Night Fish Fry's or believe people who say, "trust me, you'll love this!" when referring to some new type of food I've never tried before.
So, you can imagine how knocked off my socks were when I realized, while sipping a cup of French Vanilla flavored coffee, that I was performing all of these tasks regularly. I was going to simply blame it all on The Boy until I remembered that I am not a programmed robot but rather a human being capable of making decisions which tend to reflect upon my own free will.
And, dammit, I used to be so good at censuring others...
Now, here I am, researching unexplored venues with visions of potato pancakes in my head when once I used to merely grumble at the amount of geriatric drivers hogging the roads on Friday nights. I'm folding The Boy's socks and placing them neatly atop his finely creased shorts while searching for a scattered, matching pair in my own dresser drawer. I even entertained the idea of a peanut butter, jelly and potato chip sandwich when The Boy assured me that I'd love 'em.
WTF?!
What has become of me? Have I lost all control of my stubborn and unchanging ways? Shall I be forever resigned to trying new things and giving of my unselfish assistance to others? Will my willingness to try new foods expand to something as mortifying as snail livers or will it end at carrots and peanut butter? How long, exactly, is this weird, winding path of discovery?
Is this fate that holds such a unfamiliar angle inside my once closed door, are these events portentous signs of me being 'whipped?' and, am I really a coffee connoisseur if it's only been week?
Ohhhh my oh my, the tangled webs we weave...