So I bought and steamed broccoli tonight. My mother will know the significance immediately.
In my sophomore year of college, my parents were kind enough to buy me food and frozen vegetables at the local Wal*Mart. My mother lovingly suggested that I accept free food in the form of broccoli florets, and in the audacity that only comes with youth I declared "I am a grown man and I will eat broccoli when I damn well please." In public. At Wal*Mart. In the frozen foods aisle. To her everlasting credit, she weathered the anti-broccoli assault with aplomb and a "Well! ... Ok." and did not deliver the more appropriate response*. Since then, I've turned down broccoli left and right, reveling in my proclomation of non-broccolitarianism. Chicken and broccoli alfredo? Might as well throw it out. The broccoli that comes with General Tso's? Don't make me laugh. Broccoli and cheese? Is this some kind of joke? Is your sense of humor really that stunted?**
But the good Lord's sense of humor involves takin' the prideful down a peg, and as with any such statement the opposite often turns out to be true. The broccoli comes gleefully home to roost. And it came in the form of fresh, steamed broccoli florets that my fiancée (then-girlfriend) made for me with care. And not only were they broccoli florets, but they were totally naked, no cheese or alfredo to disguise their brash cruciferousness. What am I supposed to do, give her the "grown man ugh! dammit no broccoli ugh!" speech, as I did my astonished mother? Ah, no. I succumbed. I ate. And no, it wasn't that bad. In fact, it was pretty much basically ok for the most part. Such that I manned up and bought me some broccoli, steamed it and will probably have some tomorrow with lunch.
Because I'm a grown man and I damn well please.
In other news, the renegade faction Real Life has laid siege to the Grotus' Acorn fiefdom of Blogonia. Yes, I know that two cardinal signs of impending blogdeath are having fewer posts, and talking about having fewer posts because real life is, like, totally eatin' up the blogtime. One more and I'm straight to blogcoma, the Glascow Blog Scale registering below 8 and necessitating intublogtion.
But seriously, I've got a couple big posts mostly written but I'm not putting them up until I finish my personal statement for residency programs. This means that A. I will perform my duties in proper time, or, B. the "Tonight's Menu" posts will be replaced with "Guess What the Manager of the Taco Bell Gets to Eat for Free" or "Which Flavor of Powerbar I Ate at My Desk of the Patent Office" or "Rice and Beans Again."
Here's hoping, eh?
Oh, and help The War Eagle Reader buy Pat Dye's pants. Do it.... do it....
* Which is slap me silly in the frozen-food aisle of Wal*Mart.
** I know what you're thinking and no, beef and broccoli doesn't count. No food soaked in brown beef gravy remains the original substance. That broccoli is.... altered.... Also, delicious.