Last night as I was taking dinner out of the oven, Blair walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
"Why the hell is there an eggplant in here?"
"That's for tomorrow's dinner," I said. "I found an eggplant recipe I want to try."
He crossed his arms. "I don't like eggplant."
"You don't know that. I just haven't done a very good job cooking it. That's why I want to try this recipe. It looks really good."
A series of retching noises followed.
"Hey!" I said. "What is our deal? I plan and cook the meals but you have to eat whatever I put in front of you, no questions asked." I paused. "And no attitude."
I heard muttering behind me.
"Sorry, I missed that. What did you say?"
"I said I'm pretty sure there's some sort of 'nasty' clause in our agreement. I shouldn't have to eat anything that's outright nasty."
"There's no nasty clause!"
"Well, there should be."
The beauty of it is, I'm going to a dinner function tonight so I won't even be home to eat the eggplant. I told Blair this morning that his eggplant dinner would would be ready and waiting for him in the fridge. He nodded grimly and set out the door.
Better him than me. I've not had success with eggplant so chances are strong the dish will indeed turn out "nasty."