Sunday, February 12, 2006
We All Scream For...
“Oi, shithead !”
I toyed with the idea of saying “that’s Mr Shithead to you”, but as she obviously wasn’t entirely pleased about something or other it occurred to me that I may have been pushing my luck. She picked up the recently purchased ice cream.
“This isn’t Chubby Hubby, where’s my bloody Chubby Hubby ?”
Again, I toyed with the idea of a witty retort along the lines of “well, right now he’s standing behind his chubby wife’s chubby arse” but I’m terribly attached to my genitalia and I’d like for my genitalia to continue to be attached to me.
The PMB is very picky when it comes to ice cream ; she suffers from that most American of afflictions – the love of chocolate mixed with peanut butter which, to an Englishman like myself, is a bit like taking a beautiful piece of Danish bacon and smothering it with dog poo.
This isn’t the first time there have been marital ructions over dessert. I like bread pudding, she likes ice cream. I like a bit of cake, she likes ice cream. I like apple pie with raisins and a drop of evaporated milk, she likes ice cream. In fact, she just likes ice cream an awful lot.
I’ve tried very hard to get her to sample the finest English cuisine but it just hasn’t worked. Toad in the hole ? “Shit.” Marmite on toast ? “Shit.” Beans on toast ? “What the hell would you want to do that for ?” I haven’t bought up black pudding. I have no doubt that she would bring it up in an altogether different fashion.
As luck would have it, whilst wandering round the local “World Market” instant-rip-off-international-food-super-hyper-uberstore ($4.99 for a tiny pack of choccy Hob Nobs thank you very much, have a nice day) we stumbled upon Heinz Treacle Pud, and the essential pud topper, Ambrosia Custard.
She likes it. I know she’s the one for me.
# posted by SideshowPete : 11:25 pm
