Michelle made dark chocolate-dipped strawberries, but just in case that wasn’t enough dessert, pulled out the ice cream. (I am suddenly reminded of an infamous remark made by a family friend in our university days, saying, a BYU dinner is one where the dessert is bigger than the dinner.) Michelle and I were going at the strawberries, which was a wonderfully messy enterprise because the chocolate had not yet congealed. Meanwhile, the menfolk were mostly ignoring the berries and devouring a third of a box of ice cream between the two of them. Then a certain, um, blog minder says he’s too full to have more than the couple of strawberries he’s already eaten, at which point his wife might perhaps have mentioned that worrying about getting fat on strawberries (knowing full well what was on them but ignoring that little fact in her comment) was perhaps a tad silly if one eats large quantities of ice cream first. Said blog minder might perhaps have grinned and pulled out his cell phone and pointed its camera at his quickly-ducking wife–who now has threads of the melted bittersweet flipped across her face from ducking, and probably some in her hair. He might have said he’s going to post the picture on her blog. She manages to keep the back of her hair towards him as she runs for the bathroom to go clean up chocolate and avoid him. When she returns she does not go back in the kitchen but rather to the computer, having told him she can delete his photos as fast as he can take them. He has perhaps given her an evil grin in response.
Hypothetically, of course. Meantime, I ain’t goin’ back in there quite yet.