Why So Picky?

We all have our likes and dislikes. I, for example, prefer to exercise in the late afternoon/early evening as opposed to sweating off the pounds first thing in the morning. I choose to tune in to light-hearted shows and biographies and stay away from television dramas--especially those with titles that begin with the initials C.S.I. I delight in the sound of loose change being dropped into our antique glass Sparklette's bottle. And I feel a little queasy at the sound of money being thrown out the window--Whoosh! (That's the sound of having to pay for a traffic ticket.) I detest mummy-style sleeping bags, jeans that shrink after the first wash and I am profoundly disappointed when nothing "fun" comes in the mail. I love clean sheets, s'mores and Paris in the spring.

See? I understand likes and dislikes. But what I don't understand is how a certain member of my family can dislike just about all food I put in front of him at dinner--unless it is a hamburger. He picks out the black beans from the taco salad. If I dare try and sneak mushrooms into a sauce, he detects them immediately and spends half his time at the table "fishing" for them and the other half accusing me of trying to poison him. Onions won't be tolerated. Yogurt makes him gag. And, refried beans, apparently, are from the devil. I'm trying to put healthy food on the table, yet every night I am challenged. (Brown rice does not give us worms!) I've threatened this family member ("Go ahead and starve"). I've made compromises. ("Eat three bites of this and then you may have the rest of that.") Etc., etc.

Now it is time, once again, to go downstairs and decide what I will make for dinner tonight. Lucky for you-know-who, I actually feel like making hamburgers. Peace will reign.