T o say he's particular would be an understatement. He prefers his vegetables cut a certain way, a specific amount of milk in his cereal, and a precise degree at which the toothpaste should be squeezed. JD even lines up the drinks in the fridge so they all face outward. On the top shelf. Because why would water bottles go on the second shelf, Jasmine? Huh? Why?
I shrug, grab a water bottle, then tell him he's speaking into my deaf ear. On both sides.
If I was being honest, I don't do very much cooking. And it's not because I'm not good at it, really. It's just that I've given up because I don't chop the cilantro at the right longitude. Or something culinary like that.
Sundays are days when I make a deliberate effort to be all team-spirit in Jasmineville and help a little extra in the kitchen. A couple days ago, I offered to make sandwiches for lunch (I mean, who can ruin a sandwich?!) and JD's upper lip started to twitch. Don't worry, I assured him, I got this COVERED. Then I over-toasted the bread, placed three tomato slices on his sandwich (apparently he only does two), and added unripened avocado. In all fairness, my sandwich was delectable (with my three tomato slices), so I shrugged and pretended I didn't see his frown grow with each bite. I tell him I can't see him with my blind eye. On both sides.
Sidenote: JD just read this post and he wants me to let everyone know he happily ate the sandwich and at his last bite said, yummm, that was delicious!
Perhaps one day I'll learn to organize the drinks in our refrigerator or alphabetize our pantry, but, until then, I'll happily remain particular about photography. |
