Curled up in my writing chair, nestled by the fireplace, words were being penned into my notebook. My husband sat in the adjacent couch absorbed in a Conservation magazine, while our dog, Ella, sprawled out on his lap.
“Hmmm,” he mumbled as his brows furrowed slightly.
Knowing he was trying to entice me into asking him what he was reading, I tried not to look his way. But, I could not help myself. He knows what he is doing.
“What?” I asked, interrupting my writing – nothing interesting had yet appeared on my pages anyway.
He began to read out loud to me from an article about how we should be eating more insects.
“No,” I said.
He went on. “Palm weevils taste like bacon and some ants taste like lemon drops.”
“You are lying,” I glared at him, “making that up just to get me riled.”
“Wanna bet?” he asked.
“No. You are,” I argued, quite sure this can’t be true. He will try to do anything to get my attention when I’m writing. I think he feels neglected during my morning writing each day.
“Put some skin in it – I’ll bet you,” he pressured.
“Well, now it must be true, otherwise why would you want to bet?” I continued.
“You only make bets when you know it is a sure thing.”
“Fine. I won’t show it to you then.” His eyes pretended to go back to his reading.
My writing time was being hijacked.
“I can just look at it after you leave,” I finally said.
“I’m taking it with me,” he smirks.
I say, “Fine,” and go back to my writing, pretending to be unscathed.
He hesitates and then flips the magazine around to show me the article. “See? It says so right there.”
My eyes scanned the page for the words he had recited. It was true. We should be eating more insects. They taste like bacon and lemon drops.
“That’s just gross,” I mumbled, defeated.
“Maybe you should write that in your notebook,” he advised.
So, I did.