So it’s no secret that my husband Tom prefers Duncan Hines brownies above all others. He’s always been like this.
I even tried to trick him not too long ago. I made Betty Crocker brownies and told him that they were Duncan Hines. But he figured it out.
I decided to make brownies on Friday. They were Betty Crocker. And they had delicious chocolate chunks in them.
Tom was instantly repulsed. “What’s this?” he demanded, staring at the Betty Crocker box in horror as it sat on the counter. “What’s this?”
He was seriously disgusted. You’d have thought that I put a fart jar on the counter or something.
“Brownies. I felt like brownies tonight,” I explained simply.
Tom immediately started going through the cabinets. “Do we have Duncan Hines?” He pushed aside boxes and frowned when he couldn’t find what he was looking for.
“These are all we have. So if you want some, you’ll have to deal,” I said with a shrug. Usually I do get Duncan Hines. But this box was on sale. And plus, I’m not always in the mood to cater to Tom’s picky eating.
“You know that all I want is Duncan Hines! Didn’t you see their commercials? The commercial even says, “It’s not just—” Tom started to recite.
“I know. I know. The commercial says that it’s not just a brownie,” I finished, rubbing my temples. I had been dealing with a headache for a few hours and I couldn’t seem to shake it. Tom’s complaining wasn’t helping it any.
“So if you know that, why would you bring these,” Tom flicked the Betty Crocker box, “into the house?”
“Maybe sometimes I get tired of Duncan Hines,” I replied.
Tom placed a hand over his heart. “You’re just cruel.”
I rolled my eyes and started making the brownies. I offered Tom the extra batter and he sniffed the bowl for a few seconds. Then he timidly stuck his finger in, sniffed his finger and finally placed it in his mouth.
“It tastes funny,” he finally said. “It’s the taste of…defeat.”
I ignored him.
I thought the batter was delicious.
“And why do these brownies have chocolate chunks in them? That’s too much chocolate!” Tom continued to rant.
Too much chocolate? There is no such thing. But Tom has said the too much chocolate thing before. We went out to Chilis for the 2 for $20 deal and got that chocolate molten lava cake for dessert and Tom took one bite and went, “This is too much chocolate.”
Sometimes I swear that he had to have been dropped as a baby.
When the brownies were ready, I happily dug into them.
Tom even had one.
“Aha!” I shouted, pointing at him.
Tom shrugged. “I want brownies. These will have to do.” Then he sniffed it. “They smell funny too. It’s the smell of defeat.” He nibbled on it and sighed. “Blech.” He made a face but ate it anyway.
A few minutes later he was all, “They have a weird aftertaste, don’t they?”
I sighed. “No, Tom. They don’t.”
“What am I tasting then?”
“I don’t know, Tom. The taste of defeat?” I asked in a mocking tone.
Tom made a face at me. “Actually, that probably is what it is.”
I was about to argue with him but then my stomach lurched.
“Oh no,” I moaned.
“I know! You agree with me, right? They taste weird,” Tom said.
I shook my head. “No, you idiot. It’s not the brownies. I think I’m getting sick.”
“Because of the brownies!” Tom insisted.
“NO TOM!” I practically yelled. Then my head started pounding to the point where I had to lie down on the couch.
Tom covered me with a blanket. “Next time you’ll get Duncan Hines, right?” he said sweetly, tucking the covers under my chin.
“It’s not the brownies, Tom. I’ve been feeling off all day,” I argued weakly.
“Next time, get Duncan Hines and everything will be okay,” Tom assured me.
I didn’t even bother to correct him. All I kept thinking was, “I can’t get sick. I don’t have TIME to be sick…Moms don’t get a sick day…”