In which Beloved calls it like it is

I‘m standing in the kitchen, unloading freshly bought groceries into the cupboards. The boys are drawing at the kitchen table, and Simon asks me what’s for dinner.

“Well,” I begin, “funny you should ask. I was going to make shrimp and naan and tiki masala, but while I was doing the groceries I realized we hadn’t had chicken fingers in a while, and so I thought maybe we’d have that instead. But the shrimp sounds good to me, too. I dunno, which one would you choose?”

Before he can answer, though, I realize that I really *do* want the chicken fingers, so I barely pause for breath before continuing. “But, I really want the chicken fingers, so choose that one, okay?”

Simon is nonplussed, but Beloved jumps right in. “And that boys, is the essence of your mother. No wait, it’s the essence of all women. They pretend to give you a choice, but really, there is no choice at all. Sometimes they tell you the right choice and sometimes they don’t — but really? You’d better choose the right one.”

The boys are silent throughout this exchange, but by the time Beloved finishes his speech I’m laughing so hard tears are in my eyes. “It’s funny cuz it’s true!” I manage to sputter out while cramming the celery into the vegetable crisper.

Some day, their wives are going to thank me. Or hate me. I’m not quite sure which.

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