Joyce Meyer recently told a story about something that happened with her little dog. In the morning, Joyce’s normal routine was to let her dog out to do its business, rewarding them with a treat afterwards. However, on this particular day, when her doggie came back inside, instead of giving the dog a treat, Joyce popped the tasty morsel into her own mouth. Which, reminds me of something that happened in our household recently. I must preface this with a little background information about my husband, Steve. First of all, I love my husband, warts and all. Goodness knows I’ve got my share of warts. But, some of his habits are, how can I put this, less than “tasteful”. Early in our relationship, I invited my husband to lunch with my parents, whom he’d never met. Already smitten, I was hoping he’d make a good impression. We were having a delightful lunch, and right in the middle, Steve stabbed his fork into my last bite of meatloaf, “You don’t want that, do you?” Stunned, “I guess not” was all the response I could manage. My dad, known more for his quick wit than civility, said, “You picked a good one here”. Even though my husband failed the school of social graces, I married him anyway. Some battles are worth fighting–this wasn’t one of them. Well, one of his habits came back to “bite him”, so to speak.
My son, Zach, a college student, usually feeds Rosy, our dog, her dinner. But, school has been requiring so much of his time, that I decided to give him a break and feed Rosy myself. The problem was that I was also simultaneously fixing our dinner. While preparing dinner, I normally set the spoon that I’m stirring the food with onto a paper plate. Multitasking as always, I set about fixing Rosy’s meal, which consists of dog food crunchies, fish oil, arthritis pill, and no salt French green beans, which I mash up with a fork, and stir into the rest of her concoction in her dog bowl. Without thinking, I set the fork down on the same paper plate that I had set the stirring spoon for our meal. I stepped away to fold a little laundry. As usual, my husband made his way into the kitchen, and lickety split, pun intended, licked the contents off the fork. “What are you cooking? It tastes sort of like fish, but not any fish I’ve ever eaten before.” Right then, I realized what had happened, and died laughing, totally at my husband’s expense. I wanted to tell him what he’d actually eaten was from Rosy’s meal, but couldn’t stop laughing. Finally, composing myself, I revealed the truth about what my husband had unknowingly just ingested. Grunting, “That’s gross”, he made his out of the kitchen. You know what, I think I’ve figured out how to break some of my husband’s bad habits. He hasn’t licked a random fork in a long time.
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