One night a while ago, I purchased a salad from Loblaws to go with the roast chicken that often finds its way into my cart on grocery night. (No, no, I didn’t cook the roast chicken but I’m flattered that you even wondered.) The salad in question had roasted sweet potatoes, sunflower seeds, cranberries and some kind of green leaves. I didn’t even offer any to Reid and Ken. Ken told me in the past that he considers sweet potatoes a once-a-year food and Reid pretty much projectile vomitted the first time I gave her sweet potatoes and has never developed a taste for them.
In any case, just as I was starting to eat the salad to which I’d treated myself, Reid told me not to eat it in a rather worried voice. She said, “It looks like food for the worms!” I could see why she say that. I tear open tea bags and sprinkle the leaves on the little bits of veggies that we give them. I don’t purée their food as the manual that came with the vermicomposter suggests I should but I do cut the bigger bits up. Such intensive food preparation seems a bit too much like pampering for worms, who are supposed to be part of our household’s waste management system rather than pets.
But I digress. I told Reid that she was under no obligation to share my salad. When she said that it looked “yucky,” I reminded her that it was rude to comment on other people’s food choices. Ken, in his secret, so-the-kid-doesn’t-hear voice, told me that he agreed with Reid. I’m said to say that the salad wasn’t as delicious as I’d imagined – too oily – and I’ve not had the opportunity to desensitize them to it’s appearance. I’ve got a Mediterranean vegetable stew in the crockpot for supper tonight. I hope it gets a better reception because the worms can’t possibly eat Reid and Ken’s shares.