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Thursday, April 10, 2014

The Fruit Dispute of 2008

"I will never like fruit, Mom.  It's just not for me."  In his entire lifetime, Rory Malcolm has eaten one grape, two maraschino cherries and a handful of golden raisins.  He's held onto this position since he first starting eating things, a very long time ago.
"I don't care if I'm thirty five years old and my wife spends all day baking me a pie. I'm not gonna eat it."  Rory tucked his spoon into his chocolate SnackPack and gave it a spin.

"That's not very nice, Brother," I said to him.  "I feel badly for that young lady."
"Well, I don't," he protested.  "She knew I hated fruit before she married me."  He pulled his shirt pocket up to his mouth and licked the pudding from the spot where a small glop had landed.
"I told her lots of times that I was never gonna change," he insisted.

"Oh dear," I shook my head.  "Surely you don't mean that, honey.  Compromise in relationships is so important.  No one lives in a vacuum.  Promise me you'll give it some thought."
"Okay," he replied.  But I had a feeling he wouldn't.

After lunch, we went outside and took some photographs.
"Smile!" I suggested.
This was the best of the bunch.

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