Now, I detest meatloaf. I always have. The Mrs., though, absolutely insists that I love meatloaf. She has no evidence of it, but she clings to it like a liberal clings to the belief that higher taxes creates jobs. Every damn year for the twenty years she has lived with me we have gone through the same little ritual. As soon as the weather starts cooling off in the fall, she starts thinking about meatloaf.
The Mrs.: "I love fall. Fall makes me crave meatloaf. Will you east a meatloaf if I make it?"
Me, CherkyB: "I don't like meatloaf."
The Mrs.: "You don't like your mother's meatloaf. You've never had a really good meatloaf. You've never had my meatloaf. My meatloaf is fantastic. You'll love it."
Me, CherkyB: "I've had your meatloaf. I don't like meatloaf."
Then, I have to try to choke down a horrible meatloaf. Tonight it was a new recipe that was so foul that The Childrens couldn't even eat it. It was supposed to be Ted Turner's recipe for bison meatloaf. I doubt very much Ted Turner eats anything like that.
But the most disappointing thing is that I can't convince her that I've ever tried her meatloaf. Twenty years this has been going on. Twenty years of trying meatloaf, with always this one going to be the one I'll like, and continual denial it ever happened. Sheesh.