There are times when my husband, Tom, becomes obsessed. Summer is one of those times and his obsession is hot dogs – or more specifically, beef dogs.
We’re now into that particular obsession season and last night’s dinner was dominated by questioning about what I had for lunch. This was a repeat of the past five dinner conversations.
Tom poses this question not so much to learn about what I had for lunch, but so that I’ll ask him what he had for lunch.
Tom’s all, “I had beef dogs. I’m the Grill Master. I can make them taste soooo gooood. They’re so round, so plump, so gooood. And, who toasts buns better than the Grill Master? No one! Right?”
It’s like he’s imagining some naked woman rolling around on the grill, plumping up and getting ready for his, um, bite. Then, he’s gonna wrap her up in some irresistible blanket, and slather her hot body with lots of things I’m not going to mention here.
So, dinner conversation went on like this, and, of course, Tom needed affirmation of his being the Grill Master, and getting none from me, he asked Little Bug. “Isn’t that right? I’m the Grill Master, right?”
Little Bug responded full of enthusiasm, “Right, Da!”, followed by a whisper in my direction, “Not really.”
See, our kids really do learn from us.