Dad Post #216

Megan's taste buds are broken. They are oversensitive or under-sensitive or somehow backwards, preferring the boring and bland to anything delicious. She loves white rice, bread and butter, and little else. Perfect casseroles and salads are frowned upon. Bites of meat are picked at. Main courses are nibbled, veggies get cold, and the freshest fruit is appraised as if it were rotten, poisonous, or possessed. I assure her we don't need an antidote or exorcism, and her food isn't from a dumpster. I tell her, "We are lucky. Our food is good and healthy," and then, less emphatically, so my relevant shortcoming doesn't steal the show, "And thank God we have Jeanette to cook for us." Unless Meg becomes a food journalist, celebrity chef, or restauranteur, I'd prefer this outrageous pickiness shifts to something else in the coming years. Yes, that. Boys.

Meg loves to watch Cupcake Wars. This is good. Otherwise she might love the Simpsons, for example, or something about wives and Beverly Hills, or shows with cute little stars who become harlots. That was harsh; I sound old-fashioned. But class isn't old-fashioned. I hope. I hope it's old-, new-, now-, always-, and forever-fashioned. I like art, but I think people are poor if all they have are fame and money. M 'n' m and I would be different, of course, if we had fame and money. Yeah right. I believe it's okay and quite wonderful, in fact, to be human, but it's best to remember this very fact and what it means. Vigilance, kids. Build your house on rock. Money is good, and I pursue it everyday (without much success, unfortunately) but I want M 'n' m to experience real wealth, and know the difference.