"I don't know," she replies. "That's too far ahead to think about."
"Alright," I sigh. "I'll cook something."
"Fine," Sarah says packing her stuff and heading out the door.
~~~
"Honey," I happily say.
"I KNOW," she loudly says, "IT'S LUNCH TIME. I DON'T KNOW WHERE I WANT TO GO."
"Your choice," I cheerily reply.
"No you decide," she shoots.
"No I chose last time," I remind her. "It's your turn."
"No I don't want to decide. You decide."
"No Babes," I remind her. "It's your turn."
"I hate this," she says. "You decide."
"No, you decide."
"I'm not picking. You pick."
"I picked last time."
"Well you're picking this time too."
"Honey it's your turn."
"No, you decide."
~~~
Now if I ask the girls, I already know what they're going to say.
"Cheeseburgers."
"Chicken Alfredo."
"Steak ... with no brown or black parts ... but not rare ... cooked ... but not burned anywhere."
So I don't ask the girls.
~~~
"Why does everything have gravy?" Sarah asked over our scrumptious supper.
"Why does anything not have gravy?" I logically answer.
"Pass the ketchup," the girls yell in unison.
~~~
"How come I never cook?" Sarah asks ... obviously not caring for what I've prepared for dinner.
"YEAH?" the girls say ... obviously siding with their Mother.
"This steaks burnt!" they say dousing it in ketchup.
~~~
That's pretty much a summary of dinner at our house.
~~~
