Stinky salad containers.
Before we got married, Patrick and I attended some premarital counseling sessions with the priest who married us, Father Hanson, the current pastor of the church I grew up in, St. James Episcopal. He was great. He told us his job wasn't to tell us whether or not to marry--we'd already decided that, obviously--but to give us points to consider going forward to help make our marriage a success.
We discussed God's role in our marriage. Our personalities. Finances. Children. He had us separately fill out a sheet defining certain terms to discuss later, terms such as "forgive," "respect," "repent," "friend," and "trust." He used those terms to guide us to the idea that in order to be successful, we have to like and respect one another. We have to be willing to humble ourselves to admit when we screw up and not just say, "I'm sorry, forgive me," and expect that to fix things, but to actually show repentance.
Fr. Hanson asked us another question. I forget how he termed it, but basically asked what our pet peeves were with each other. I don't even recall what I said (because Patrick's so disarmingly wonderful, I could never, never be irritated with him! *cheese*), but I remember what Patrick said.
"Her stinky salad containers."
I eat gigantic salads for lunch at work at least once a week; it's not unusual for me to eat them 4 or 5 days of the week. I love them. A typical one may have: spinach/arugula/mixed baby greens, a chopped carrot, sliced mini sweet peppers, a few sliced mushrooms, tomato, craisins, and absolutely, cheese--but only if it's stinky cheese.
Feta?: Yes!
Gorgonzola?: Does it smell like feet? Then crumble a little more!
Even if I make a sweeter salad (such as adding apples, pears, candied pecans, etc), there still will be stinky cheese.
And then, of course, that salad needs dressing. I've gotten to the point where a bottled dressing nearly always tastes disgusting to me--even ones I used to love. Now, 99.99% of the time, I top my salads with olive oil and an acid--lemon juice (my current favorite), balsamic vinegar, red wine vinegar, white wine vinegar... you get the idea.
It's good for me, you know? Olive oil is useful because you better absorb the vitamins in your veggies with a little fat. The acid gives the flavors a nice edge. But here's the problem: when I'm done scraping the last carrot onto my fork, what's left in the container? Remnants of delicious but ripe-smelling cheese and vinegar. Mmm-mmm. The bigger problem? We don't have a kitchen sink at work, and the bathrooms aren't good for rinsing food out of a dish, so I usually just pop the lid on, let the container marinate the rest of the afternoon, then drop it in the sink when I get home. More often than not, Patrick is the one who pops the lid off and catches that first whiff of warm blue and balsamic. He hates that smell.
Fr. Hanson gave us some very wise advice. He said, "Anytime you do something you dislike doing for each other, instead of grumbling about it, just tell yourself, 'I'm showing her I love her.'"
We lit up! We loved that. And, nearly a year later (oh, can you believe we've held on to a piece of wisdom for an entire ELEVEN MONTHS?!--Me either!), we still use that phrase. Half jokingly, but half seriously.
When he gets stuck with my stinky salad container, I usually offer up an, "Oh, sorry, I meant to rinse that for you. You want me to handle it?" And he'll reply, "No, no, I'm just showing you I love you."
When I actually remember to rinse it out myself, if he catches me in the action, he usually thanks me. (I mean to say, he really hates that smell!) I tell him, "That's alright. I know you hate it. Just showing you I love you!"
All of this leads me to my point. Before writing this post, I had a gigantic, sloppy salad for lunch. Tomato slices, avocado, sliced mini sweet peppers, feta, feta, feta, and a few black olives (for additionally pungency, of course). Dressed it in salt, pepper, olive oil, and lemon juice. So Mediterranean (at least, I like to think so)! So flavorful! So... smelly! And I'm such a darn good little wife that before it sat for even a few minutes, I walked myself to the restroom at work and rinsed it completely out.
I doubt I'll make a regular habit of it, but nevertheless: Just showing you I love you, Patrick.
We discussed God's role in our marriage. Our personalities. Finances. Children. He had us separately fill out a sheet defining certain terms to discuss later, terms such as "forgive," "respect," "repent," "friend," and "trust." He used those terms to guide us to the idea that in order to be successful, we have to like and respect one another. We have to be willing to humble ourselves to admit when we screw up and not just say, "I'm sorry, forgive me," and expect that to fix things, but to actually show repentance.
Fr. Hanson asked us another question. I forget how he termed it, but basically asked what our pet peeves were with each other. I don't even recall what I said (because Patrick's so disarmingly wonderful, I could never, never be irritated with him! *cheese*), but I remember what Patrick said.
"Her stinky salad containers."
 |
| A run of the mill lunch. I'm not sure this picture does justice to the size of the salad. |
I eat gigantic salads for lunch at work at least once a week; it's not unusual for me to eat them 4 or 5 days of the week. I love them. A typical one may have: spinach/arugula/mixed baby greens, a chopped carrot, sliced mini sweet peppers, a few sliced mushrooms, tomato, craisins, and absolutely, cheese--but only if it's stinky cheese.
Feta?: Yes!
Gorgonzola?: Does it smell like feet? Then crumble a little more!
Even if I make a sweeter salad (such as adding apples, pears, candied pecans, etc), there still will be stinky cheese.
And then, of course, that salad needs dressing. I've gotten to the point where a bottled dressing nearly always tastes disgusting to me--even ones I used to love. Now, 99.99% of the time, I top my salads with olive oil and an acid--lemon juice (my current favorite), balsamic vinegar, red wine vinegar, white wine vinegar... you get the idea.
It's good for me, you know? Olive oil is useful because you better absorb the vitamins in your veggies with a little fat. The acid gives the flavors a nice edge. But here's the problem: when I'm done scraping the last carrot onto my fork, what's left in the container? Remnants of delicious but ripe-smelling cheese and vinegar. Mmm-mmm. The bigger problem? We don't have a kitchen sink at work, and the bathrooms aren't good for rinsing food out of a dish, so I usually just pop the lid on, let the container marinate the rest of the afternoon, then drop it in the sink when I get home. More often than not, Patrick is the one who pops the lid off and catches that first whiff of warm blue and balsamic. He hates that smell.
Fr. Hanson gave us some very wise advice. He said, "Anytime you do something you dislike doing for each other, instead of grumbling about it, just tell yourself, 'I'm showing her I love her.'"
We lit up! We loved that. And, nearly a year later (oh, can you believe we've held on to a piece of wisdom for an entire ELEVEN MONTHS?!--Me either!), we still use that phrase. Half jokingly, but half seriously.
When he gets stuck with my stinky salad container, I usually offer up an, "Oh, sorry, I meant to rinse that for you. You want me to handle it?" And he'll reply, "No, no, I'm just showing you I love you."
When I actually remember to rinse it out myself, if he catches me in the action, he usually thanks me. (I mean to say, he really hates that smell!) I tell him, "That's alright. I know you hate it. Just showing you I love you!"
All of this leads me to my point. Before writing this post, I had a gigantic, sloppy salad for lunch. Tomato slices, avocado, sliced mini sweet peppers, feta, feta, feta, and a few black olives (for additionally pungency, of course). Dressed it in salt, pepper, olive oil, and lemon juice. So Mediterranean (at least, I like to think so)! So flavorful! So... smelly! And I'm such a darn good little wife that before it sat for even a few minutes, I walked myself to the restroom at work and rinsed it completely out.
I doubt I'll make a regular habit of it, but nevertheless: Just showing you I love you, Patrick.
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