This is a photo of...
A) My glaucoma medication.
B) Party favors for Mark's next soiree.
C) What my mom found in my sock drawer when I was seventeen.
D) None of the above.
Mark is a great cook. It is the reason I have gained fifty pounds since I met him. He has introduced me to collard greens, pork belly, lobster bisque, and just about anything else you can imagine. Almost all of it, delicious. The trouble is that even the best of cooks hit a bad note once in a while. Tuesday Mark hit that bad note. It all started five years ago when we were in Atlanta. Mark had wanted to go to Gladys Knight's restaurant where they served waffles and chicken.
"Waffles and chicken? That sounds disgusting." I told Mark.
"Oh no, I think it sounds real interesting and I'd love to go try it."
The fact is, we never did go, and ever since, Mark has wanted to give chicken and waffles a try here at home. So on Tuesday Mark served me fried chicken with waffles for dinner. It was very confusing. Was I eating breakfast, or was I eating dinner? There was syrup on the table along with butter for the waffles, and then there was the chicken. It didn't matter, I ate it all. What I didn't eat very much of was his side dish, roasted kale. It was disgusting. Now you might like roasted kale, you might love roasted kale, but to me it tasted horrible. We still have a large Glad Bag full of the stuff since I didn't eat it, and there are three possibilities for what's to become of it. One, Mark will eat it all. Two, I will throw it into the garbage after it sits on the counter for a week. Or three, I will break it down into smaller bags and see if I can't make some extra money down by the high school.