Marital Strolling

On Superbowl Sunday Matt and I went for a brisk walk in our neighborhood. The air was warm and caressing and stuff was in actual bloom.

We talked of soup.

Matt allowed as how he wanted more soup in his life. I observed that I make a whole darn lot of soup as it is. And he shared with me a wish for even more. So we considered the soup landscape and how I might meet his needs within it.

I rattled down a slight hill. "I think I now fully see the world of food through soup goggles," I said. "You just start with some fat and add the aromatics, and then you can just go anywhere. It's exciting!"

Matt strode along beside me. "I don't like celery," he said.

This opinion was so objectionable that I could not admit it into the conversation. "Yes you do," I said. "I put celery in everything." I swung my arms.

Keeping up a quick pace, he said, "Well, I don't like actual chunks of celery."

Still I pooh-poohed, "Oh yes you do! You don't like celery like Hank doesn't like butter. He just doesn't want to see it or know about it, but it better be in his oatmeal!"

Matt said, "Don't invalidate my dislike of celery."

"I'm not!"

"Yes you are, you're doing exactly that." We reached a flat stretch and he sped up. I scrambled to keep pace. He was right. I was invalidating his dislike of celery.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I should not do that."

I have this tendency to think I know best in some areas, and when I think that, I won't really even hear what other people say, I'm too busy organizing my rebuttal.

I'm working on this aspect of myself, starting with soup.

Then Matt made me jog up a huge hill.

The End.