My poor sweet Jim. I say that kinda frequently, but really, though the man has in me an adoring fan, he’s also got a weirdo.
Today Jim and his buddies biked the Flume Trail. During the ride, my guy’s knee pitched a fit. With my very own set of bum knees over here, I have twingeing empathy for any joint pain. So when he woke up from a post-ride nap at my house, I brought him food. (Don’t think the man was debilitated; I just thought it might be nice for him to take a break. If you’ve never had knee pain, drop to those healthy knees right now and thank Whatever You Believe In for your very good fortune. I mean it. Do that. Now.)
Dinner brought right to you? It sounds nice. Until you find out what I brought.
The tray hosted a bottle of water, soda, acetaminophen, and two plates. One plate had a salad of vegetables, toasted almonds, shaved parmesan, and quinoa dressed in some kind of vinegar and on a pile of arugula. (I was going to say “on a bed of arugula,” but that sounds too la-di-da, so I went with the more blog-appropriate “pile.”) The other plate supported a bowl holding two kinds of Megan-made hummus with brown rice chips and blue corn tortilla chips.
He was happy to have the meal brought to him. I was happy to make it for him. I set the tray on Jim's lap and sat down next to him. And then I actually looked at the plates. I brought my boyfriend two giant helpings of Bummer. That’s what you get when you date this vegetarian. A bit laid up? Here’s some quinoa, greens, brown rice chips, and hummus to cheer you right up. I can guarantee that before dating me, Jim never had a meal comprised of this stuff placed in front of him. Like a champ, he ate it. I've learned he'll eat pretty much anything drowning in vinegar. Except for the arugula. It was too green. I admit I knew it'd be a fail when I dumped the weeds on his plate, but a girl has to try.
While prepping said meal, I cut myself on a mandoline. How cliché. But I didn’t get sliced ‘cause I failed to use the guard. No, I used the hell out of that guard. I cut myself when I noticed that there were cucumber seeds on the blade and decided to employ my thumb to flick them off. Really, Megan? You thought flicking your thumb against an exposed blade was a good idea? With brains like these, I shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen.
One of the dudes that Jim rode with today is a bloke called Brandon. Brandon writes a blog all about dashing here and there on two wheels. I will bet you my mortgage payment that you don’t know anything about the Romaniacs Enduro. I sure didn’t before Brandon and not just because I’m a motorcycle-anything neophyte. The race is obscure, in Romania, effing nuts, and I think Brandon was one of, like, three Americans doing it. He just got back from the thing and has posts on his experience. If you've been looking to learn about something new, you’re welcome, ‘cause I just gave it to you.