Herself and myself were just lying around talking … as you do.
Reaching back into the far recesses of our minds, sharing what was. I’m not quite sure how the subject came up …
“don’t upset the applecart” …
Herself giggled, snuggled in a little closer and confided …
“when I was little, I always thought it was ‘don’t upset the apricot”, I never understood why the apricot was so damn important and should not be upset.”
Life … is a series of moments …
Yesterday we decided to treat ourselves to an evening out at a local eatery. My chance to EAT MEAT , for herself the promise of an ice cream sundae.
The evening was going rather well. I had beef, and shrimp, and potato. Man! My carnivorous body was delighted. Herself had a plateful of loaded potato waffles … or some such vegetarian type dish. Time for pudding, bring on the ice cream! Now, if there is one thing in particular which I love about the states, well … it would have to be buttered pecan ice cream. Unfortunately it appears that I am unable to pronounce pecan in the proper manner, herself insists I order it myself, whilst she sits back and chuckles at the unfortunate waiter trying to decipher my accent, well wrapped around the word pecan.
A tall glass, filled with ice cream, swirled with marshmallow and covered in whipped cream. Mama mia … what bliss! I enjoyed every mouthful, the last delicious drip of melted wonder was tucked away, out of reach, at the very bottom of the very tall glass.
No way does this girl waste yummy left overs like that, I tipped the glass and watched the mushy mix slide out of the glass and onto my waiting spoon …
Omg!
What can I say …
Herself was in shock, almost speechless. Almost I said … almost but not quite. Her face was a study of unmitigated horror. She managed to stammer out my name …
‘eryll! WHAT are you doing???”
If looks could kill I would have dropped dead on the spot. My horrible lack of table manners probably took ten years off her life.
I don’t do well with criticism.
Talk about upsetting the apricot!
