Yes, it was just as romantic as you’re thinking.

Hey y’all!  Aeralyn is over her little bout with the flu, which was thankfully not a terrible one.  I somehow managed to avoid it altogether, which is obviously a miracle.  Although, I did manage to catch strep throat.  That sucked royally, but atleast it wasn’t the flu. 

I’m glad that you all think this strawberry peeling nonsense is just as weird as I do.  And yes, peeling a strawberry can be done.  As long as you have a very sharp knife, a steady hand, and somebody who has more patience than I do.  Aaron does it every summer.  He painstakingly peels every little strawberry that he wants for his yummy strawberry shortcake.  And I point and laugh while eating mine right in front of him saying “You know, if you weren’t so weird, you could be eating that instead of peeling it!”  I know, I’m mean.  Also, I don’t peel his strawberries for him because 1.) he is a big boy and can do it himself 2.) everyone gets nervous when I hold a knife and 3.) there would be no strawberry left to eat if I was doing the peeling.  Which is exactly why I am not allowed to peel potatoes or cucumbers, or any other thing that needs to be peeled.  But wait!!  Now I can because Santa was nice enough and brought me the Rotato!  And I love it more than I could ever express. 

Now, I’m going to beat this strawberry thing in the ground and never mention it again.  Okay, maybe not ever, but atleast not for a while.  I just have to tell you this story so that you will know exactly how strange my husband really is. 

On our wedding night, we stayed at a nice hotel in downtown Savannah.  When we got there, we noticed someone had sent chocolate covered strawberries with a bottle of champagne to our room.  They were from my sister, and I thought that was such a nice gesture.  Very romantic, right?  Except no, not at all because when I tried to give one to Aaron, he made a grimacing face and refused.  I thought, you have got to be kidding me, but sadly, he was not.  He couldn’t eat them because he couldn’t stand the seeds.  So, I ate the whole plate of strawberries by myself, and that turned out to be much less romantic than sharing them with my new husband, as you can imagine.    

So, this seems to be some kind of illness that my daughter has inherited from her father.  I have tried several times over the last week to get her to eat strawberries, and it just ain’t happening.  Oh well, more for me!